Tag Archives: Rachel Zamora

The Right To Rest

9 Nov

“In the spring, at the time when kings go off to war, David sent Joab out with the king’s men and the whole Israelite army.”    2 Samuel 11:1

Spring was a good time to go to war because the roads were dry, making travel easier for troop movement. David had just successfully defeated the Ammonites. But immediately following victory, David abandoned his purpose, passed off his responsibility, and stayed home to soak in the victory instead of being alongside his army in battle.

I’m sure David was simply enjoying the many luxuries of being king.  It seems as though he began to build security on his own strength. Forgetting that it was the Lord who enabled him to win in the first place. Instead of being forward thinking, He began to rely on his previous victory. His priorities were out of line, and he failed to face the next task at hand. While most of us think of David as a man with a worshiper’s heart and a warrior’s will; this story portrays him as someone entirely different.

Distraction comes easily if you aren’t focused on your purpose. And distraction precedes failure. I remember the first (and hopefully the last) time I played dodge ball. Six fellow peers of mine dragged me onto their team after realizing that they had to have at least one girl on their team in order to play. I told them I wasn’t too grand at sports, but they were convinced otherwise- and wow were they ever wrong.

I was a miserably pathetic throw and exhibited incredibly poor hand-eye coordination skills to boot. But, for a split second, I experienced my fair share of glory. Three or so minutes into the game, (The anxiety made it feel more like 40) one of the styrofoam balls was launched up in the air, luckily high enough so I could catch it. I caught it, everyone cheered, and my opponent was out. But, I was so overcome with the pride of my new found victory, that I failed to notice the second ball. Lethally headed in my direction. Being entirely distracted made me an easy target. And that was the end of my dodgeball career; just as soon as I had tasted victory; I was out.

I’ve since learned that looking back to soak on your victory too often will only distract you from the next challenge at hand. I don’t know of a time in the Bible where Jesus used his energy recalling all that He had done. He was always forward thinking. Looking for the next person to touch, heal, or save. He had bigger fish to fry than to use his valuable time thinking, praying, or addressing the past. He was always in the Spirit, always in warfare, always on call, accessible, and ready.

“One evening, David got up from his bed and walked around the roof…and saw a woman bathing. David sent someone out to find her…she came to him and he slept with her.” 2 Samuel 11:2-4

Like me, in light of victory, David had let his guard down. I’m sure he did indeed deserve some R&R. After all, he’d served diligently, patiently, and  faithfully all those years. He’d single-handedly killed the giant, destroyed opposing armies, and remained in communion with God. So, hadn’t he earned it?

We mustn’t depend on our past victories to pull us through tomorrow’s challenges, we still have to face them. Every war has a price.  Anytime you lose sight of your mission, you can rest assured that distraction is lying on the next rooftop.  Opportunity is always knocking, and if you don’t have a worthwhile cause to obtain your focus, your own desires will overcome your purpose.

You see, this snowball effect began as a decision; to fight, or not to fight. Never underestimate what hiding from your battles will cost. No matter how great the recent victory is, we should never feel entitled to lay aside our weapons. A friend of mine put it this way “As Christians, we shouldn’t ever feel as though we have the right to rest spiritually.” We can’t let up, give in, or back down. There’s a task that has been assigned to us. The moment we lose sight of it, we will fall, and eventually distraction will destroy us.

If you feel as though you’ve lost sight of your purpose, don’t worry! David blew it- royally at that. Yet, he turned his life around and we still speak of him today. God will honor a man who returns. It’s never too late to come back.

So, let’s face tomorrow. Let’s kick the crud out of our lives. Let’s become so overwhelmingly consumed with the God who loves us, and the task at hand, that distraction has no place in our lives. Contend; it’s what we’re born to do.

“The kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force.” Matthew 11:12

The Only Exception

5 Jul

Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for righteousness: for they shall be filled. Matthew 5:6

It seems to me that typically, we don’t expect God to transform or fill us. And we look to things to fill the void because we don’t truly believe that we need Him.

For a few years now, I’ve been praying for my dad whom I haven’t seen since I was sixteen. I felt that if I had a father, I would be complete. His leaving was always my excuse; my reason, to be mad at the world and live however I pleased. Recently, my mom became engaged to an incredible man of God who treats her like a queen and spoils us rotten. Their relationship is a beautiful picture of what true Love looks like. I used to believe that this hole in my heart would be filled when a father figure stepped back into my life.

For the past few weeks, I’ve relied on my environment and circumstances to sustain me. Since I’ve returned from India, it’s been easy living. It’d been so effortless that I began to rely solely on the people and things around me. Yes, it’s absolutely wonderful that everything in life seems to be simplistically drama-free, but it’s been odd. Without battles, I’ve found myself distancing from God. Growing accustomed to coping without Him. As if I only need Him when I’m injured.

Yes, I’ve been spending time with Him. But I’ve also felt empty. Somewhere along the lines of my recently effortless life, I became self-reliant. I assumed since I now had everything I was “supposed” to have, I would be content. This counterfeit confidence lasted a few weeks as  I expected my heart to be filled. But, I was wrong. Slowly drifting away, my self-reliance was killing my purpose. I’m discovering that “happy circumstances” don’t equate to feeling whole, satisfied, or fulfilled. In the end, you find yourself coming up short and something still lacks.

I don’t want to share life with God only when it’s too hard for me to handle. I want Him to be with me in everything. I imagine that it wouldn’t be very fun to only take care of your child through the difficulties. The diaper changes, cuts and scrapes, and continuous messes.  But, I’m sure payment in the form of sharing their first words, steps, or graduation, is much appreciated. God wants to enjoy life with us. He desires to walk with us hand in hand through the bad and the good. If we look, we will find Him everywhere, in everything.

Nothing on this earth will fill me. No earthly relationship can sustain me. No one but Him. He is the Only Exception. I need Him, even when life feels okay.

Twenty-Eight Kids & Seven Markers

14 Jun

I know You’re a God of Justice. You’re Peace impersonated. Love, Mercy, and Compassion incarnate. So why do these things happen? What sets these children apart from myself, my family or friends. How did they get the shorter end of the stick? I don’t wish to question You, I know this isn’t Your doing. Just show me what I can do, practically. I am so overwhelmed. My heart feels blown to bits. Yet, this is only a glimpse. Only the aftermath. I only see in part. The magnitude of this horrendous situation is unimaginable. What can I do? Use me.

God help us. Day Eight was finally here and had begun. Our tolerance and flexibility would be put to the test.  This day and the next two weeks to follow it would be physically, spiritually, and emotionally draining. Vacation Bible School, Day 1. We were initially expecting 150-200 children from the slums and surrounding villages. What we didn’t know is that apparently, word travels faster without cellphones or vehicles. We had enough supplies for about 200 children. By mid-morning the first day, there were well over 300 beautiful little Indian faces ages 1-21 staring up at us twenty-five pale-faced Americans. Five translators all together. This would be a great opportunity to either pick up some Tamil, or use some cross-cultural sign language.

Malachi, and I  had twenty-eight kids all together on our team. Eight hours a day with these precious kids and no translator would be tough.  Looking back, its pretty comical the ways that we tried to communicate. Trying to ask a 3-year-old of he needs to use the restroom was harder than I first realized. If you’ve seen Slum Dog Millionaire, it paints a fairly accurate picture of what the children in the slums are like. I noticed that only a handful wore a different outfit each day. For the most part, they were in the same clothes all week. I counted about fifteen pairs of shoes. The floors and streets are so hot in India, their feet were callused beyond belief.

With the Superhero song predominantly on loop in my head; singing it eight times a day with the correlating motions was a cinch. They laughed at our dramas, and participated more than most kids their own age would. They also got a huge kick when I “milked a cow” on stage. I’m a terrible actress to begin with, so it was somewhat intimidating having a dozen  tease me about it for hours upon end. After a while it got old and I became weary of little boys trying to get my attention. They were everywhere.

We began our art projects. We only had seven markers. If you do the math, that’s four kids for every marker. So, basically it was a challenge. We had two little boys who were pretty husky for their age. They would pick on the smaller ones. It was tolerable until one of them punched a little boy square in the face. Justice and frustration quickly rising in me, he must have noticed and jumped up. The other children screamed “He bad boy, He bad boy” over and over. The injured little boy took a seat, bawling his big brown eyes out. Others comforted him, and I sternly approached the bully. I don’t know where it came from, but in an instance I realized that this little wanna-be-gangster, had most probably endured a difficult past. Out of no where, I found myself hugging him. I grabbed a translator and asked him to tell the little G-man that I believed that he was a good boy deep down. He started to cry. This was a beautiful moment. For a second, I experienced inexplicable love. All of my frustration at the mini antagonist melted away;  all I could do was love on him.

Starving for attention. Desperate for love. Hungry for reassurance. This is why we came. They needed hope. What do you tell a child without hope? Where do you start? Jesus.

If you are interested in supporting this incredible cause in India, please email Judith at: lifeforindia@hotmail.com

$150/Child

13 Jun


What would you do if you could bargain a child out of a labor camp for only $150.00?

It sounds ridiculous. But, this is the harsh reality that Judith is faced with daily. She houses several hundred children in Chennai, India. Most of these children have been smuggled or “bargained” from child labor camps or sex slavery. For a lot of them, their skin tells a story. Burned into their arms and legs, are memories of physical abuse and oppression to forever remind them of what they’ve endured.

They don’t know their ages, their birthdays, or their families. Why doesn’t the government put a stop to this? The disgusting part of it all is that they know of the corruption. They know entirely too well. Most of the camps are owned by politicians. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer.

A lot of the children have been sent to these camps by their own parents. The parents are usually informed if they send their kids, the camp owner will pay off their debt and return the child after he or she has worked for three years. But, they move the children to a different city, and without records, there is no way for the parents to ever find them.

An estimated 15 million children are sold into child labor in India alone. I only met a few hundred kids. My heart is overwhelmed. Twelve hour days, One meal, Seven days a week,  No holidays, No school. Most of the children ages 3+ make bricks, while the younger ones are sent to the streets to beg or sell merch. The babies are rented out by older beggars who need the extra sympathy. It’s heart wrenching. Even after witnessing it with my own eyes, I still can’t wrap my mind around their horrifying reality.

Above, is a picture of Vijayakanth, pronounced “Jagon”, a little boy about three years old who stole my heart on this trip. He and his brother, Zuresh, were recently rescued just last summer. When I first met Jagon, he had what looked like a knot on his forehead. After seeing him for several days, I noticed that it wasn’t only bleeding, but oozing yellow pus as well. I put a bandaid on his tiny head and changed it out daily. I finally asked what it was. A heat boil. Upon hearing this, I broke down. This was normal for them. Nothing out of the ordinary for a three-year old. In the 115 degree weather, they can’t afford air conditioning in the orphanage. So no matter how hard they try, illnesses are often times unavoidable.

So how can we help? Firstly, we can pray. But on a more practical level we can fund. I am personally sponsoring Jagon for a mere $50/month. This is spare change for us here in the States. If you are interested in sponsoring one of the many children that desperately need help, please email Judith at: lifeforindia@hotmail.com or

Send donations directly to:

Life Ministries Global

#16 Murugesan Nagar, Villivakkam,

Chennai 600 049

Rickshaws, Curry & Other Indian Lingo

12 Jun

I thought I’d share a little about the more “adventurous” side of the trip. For those of you who don’t know me, I’ve never been the camping type. That is, until now. Funny how I’ve discovered that I actually love being entirely out of my element. It’s terrifying, but I’m learning to enjoy things that I never thought I’d like. With the exception of curry–I can’t do the whole spicy food thing.

So, for those of you who haven’t ever watched National Geographic. Let me introduce you to the Rickshaw. Not known for it’s spacious back seat, this cute little buggy fits four comfortably but rarely carries less than six. It has only three wheels, and I think it runs on a go-cart engine. It can convienently squeeze in between virtually anything, whether it be two cows or two crate trucks. We had a blast. Also, if you find yourself on the “right” side of the road– It’s actually the wrong side. Apparently, the speed demon drivers enjoy passing everyone that’s stuck on the left side. So we often found ourselves headed in the wrong direction on the right.

In a nutshell, Curry is to India what Tabasco is to Mexico. I don’t particularly know or understand what curry is exactly. But  I do know that it’s hot. Like way hot- but that’s coming from someone who barely likes mild hotsauce. It goes on everything. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. It’s all the same. I wish my tastebuds could have morphed into the kind that likes hotness. But I suppose they’re set on being panzies. I don’t consider myself a picky eater, but I don’t like banannas- at all, nor do I often eat rice (carbs-ew!). But, they were my saving grace on this trip. Really. Three meals a day. So it worked out great!  I cannot believe how much work goes into cooking! Old school firepits, and buckets to wash dishes with– and I have a hard enough time cooking with a stove and dishwasher. These people are amazing!

So, this is somewhat self explanitory right? Squatty Potty. Yep. Basically just what it sounds like. No toilets. Not even in the “Mall” in Chennai. They still had squatties and “Leg Wash” signage above buckets with water. Believe it or not, this is actually one of the nicest ones we saw while in India. And handsoap isn’t available. Not even in the mall. Shocker. While we’re on the topic of cleanliness, it was so crazy to me that our whole trip I counted a total of one (1) trash can. It was pretty different! When some of the children from the slums came to our compound, a few of the girls had to use the restroom. No biggie, Rachel doesn’t need a translator to take seven pre-teen girls to the bathroom. Right? Wrong. I stood outside the restroom and waited for the girls to finish, and I noticed something. Water was spilling out of the restroom and on to the road. Except it wasn’t water. I stepped into the restroom, my feet and flipflops now wet. And to my pleasant surprise, it wasn’t water. The girls hadn’t ever seen a toilet before, so they were peeing in front of the commodes. I was so stunned, I shreaked. Poor girls, I scared them half to death and thought they were in trouble. They are so precious. It just broke my heart.

Why shower when you can use a bucket! I grew quite fond of Bucket Baths. I was drenched in one quick motion. Forget weak water pressure. There’s nothing like a freezing bucket bath at 6am and11pm. Don’t be alarmed if your skin stays soaked and sticky all day, it’s just the heat.

So, these cot-style beds don’t have a cool Indian name. But they should because they definitely don’t sleep like a mattress. This was my room at the church. It was a blast! The only downside were the mosquitos and 115+ temperature. At night the power would shut off, and so would our fans. So, you could typically find me crying on the roof at 3am. The pillows were a little different, so I used my airplane neck pillow. My sheet stained my arms blue (I think my sweat pulled the color out). So, I used my towel for a sheet.

On days when it was too hot, we slept on the Rooftop of the fifth floor. We had a killer view every morning! Devos+agreatview+Indian sunrise = Amazing.

I might joke a lot, but this trip really did challenge me to break out of my bubble and outside of my comfort zones. It was so good for me! I learned so much!

Gypsies, Tamil, & Crackers

11 Jun

Culture Shock: ”A condition of disorientation affecting someone who is suddenly exposed to an unfamiliar culture or way of life.”

Pulling up to the gypsy village after a three-hour long drive through the Indian desert, we’re not in Dallas anymore. Looking out the bus window, a spider monkey is tied to a gate made of broken branches, two babies are on their young mothers hip without any diapers on. Children are running and singing, men are wearing toga-like skirts, cows and dogs are sitting on the sidelines in a daze. Culture Shock. These beautiful people are unlike anyone I’ve ever seen.

We unload the bus in formation, the eleven girls in the center in a single file line, the boys surround us holding the people back. Cameras are left behind for safety. Tamil translators begin communicating with the local leaders.

This particular group of about eighty, has set themselves apart from typical Indian culture. They are composed of what initially was a few close relatives. They independently educate their children, make their own clothing, grow their own food, and believe in their own religion. They move from place to place without a permanent home. They don’t have any citizenship, or permanent records. There is no way to track them, here one day, packed up and gone the next. This is their living style of choice.

We sang a few kids songs, including ”Jesus You’re My Superhero” for the forty umpteenth time. Did a few dances, shared our testimonies, and told them about Jesus. Several people came up for prayer afterwards. Younger women mostly. I prayed for several pregnant girls who couldn’t have been over sixteen. They looked so small yet ready to pop. They were concerned with their pregnancies, and asked that I pray for blessings over their child’s life. I couldn’t imagine being in their shoes. They were so strong, so dignified, so fearless. So breathtakingly gorgeous. These girls have a natural beauty that would blow our “plastic-sism” out of the water any day.

After a few hours it was time for us to head out, but first we would hand out three large husk bags worth of crackers and toys for the children. The translators relayed to the people to have a seat and we would hand them each one toy and one snack. Half of us were designated toy’ers while the other half snack’ed. For the first few moments, most of the people remained seated. But about fifteen seconds in we were surrounded. People were pushing others, older parents were stealing crackers from the children. They were trying to overtake the snack-bag. Kids were getting shoved out of the way, babies were crying. Grasping hands everywhere; they were grabbing and reaching at us. I was completely surrounded and couldn’t get to any of the team members. It was terrifying.

My heart was breaking. I couldn’t believe it. These people were starving; they were desperate. I was so overwhelmed  I started bawling. I couldn’t even move. I just stood there in utter disbelief at what I was witnessing. I’ve been on mission trips before, but this was just beyond anything I’ve seen in my life. Absolute chaotic craziness. I suppose this is just a glimpse of what it’s like with the “Feed The Children” relief efforts in Africa.

Where can you direct people like this? Who is their hope? When will the answer reach them? How can we help? We gave them enough food to equate about half a meal. What about the rest of their meals? For the rest of their lives. Who will ever truly reach these people?

We must do something. We must reach out. This world will change one life; one person; one soul at a time. This was Jesus’ style. We can’t become overwhelmed. We should accomplish the task assigned to us by any, and all means possible. Firstly in our lifestyle and secondly in our personal spheres of influence. Change the world, but first begin with your friends.

Broaden your horizons. Start at Wal Mart. Smile. Impact someone. Anyone.

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me…I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did for Me.”  Matthew 25: 35,36,40

Counting Down-INDIA 2010

3 Mar

Two Months & Six Days…

I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken… -Psalm 37:25

So, I’ve been wondering- where on earth can I buy inexpensive skirts long enough to reach my ankles? It’s been the hunt of the century! I consider myself a pretty swift shopper but who would have thought lengthy skirts would be so hard to find!

We’ve begun practicing dramas and such. I have to say, drama is not my strength! I knew from the start that this trip would be a learning experience, but I never realized how truly shy I am of acting even in the smallest of ways.   

Aside from the peculiar drama warm ups (which mostly consisted of screaming, shouting, and acting a fool—did I mention this was a growing experience??) We’ve learned a lot of interesting facts about India. While there, we’ve been instructed not to look men in the eyes. Exactly opposite of any customer service training I’ve received- eye contact is considered “an invitation”. Thus, it’s needless to say- that I will most definitely be looking at the ground the majority of the trip.

For cultural modesty reasons, all girls will be required to wear cotton floor-length skirts and XL t-shirts. Nice and comfy style in the 100+ temperatures. In addition, we are encouraged against wearing any form of makeup or jewelry.  I AM SO STINKING EXCITED.

Please pray for our team and that God would begin to prepare the hearts of the people who come across our path. He has a way of healing hearts and changing lives like no one else can!

Praise God, so far, $630.00 has been donated towards India- thanks to the Duffy Family, Mr. Flores, & Jarrod Wells. Which means I am $3170.00 short of boarding a plane towards an unmistakable adventure while leaving the comfort of Dallas behind. NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE FOR GOD.

If you wish to make a donation online please visit: ttps://www.cfni.org/outreach/?code=8e6d5362e5be9fea678268fcb056c5a6 If you itemize your deductions for income tax purposes, your gift will be tax deductable.

Thank you for partnering with me to fight against child slavery and impact India. Together, we can see an end to this horrific industry.

04/01/09- Its Your Birthday- So Celebrate!

1 Apr

On a day full of pranks for the sake of April Fools, I am praying. I’m praying for you on your birthday, Dad.

I’ve been praying for you. My heart has changed a lot since we last talked. If you’re reading this please know that I love you. I choose to remember the good. And I hope you will do the same.

While I do not understand, I am not bitter or angry. I learned the hard way that nothing I did or had could ever bring you back or fill the void-not alcohol, success, or relationships. At the end of it all, I found Jesus, for real this time. And I pray the same is someday true for you as well.

I worry about you, I don’t know what you’re doing, where you’re living, or who you are anymore. You always liked to live life on the edge. And you were always pushing the limits. So you’re most likely in a million different places all at once.

I remember you as such a diligent worker, most people would have considered you somewhat of a hermit, or brilliant introvert. But what many colleagues would never know is that you’re a stuntman at heart; complete with stories of driving straight up walls on motorcycles, and doing doughnuts on streets in the middle of ice storms.

I always told you I hated it, but the truth is I loved it. I had coolest dad ever, who always challenged me to face my fears head on. Somewhere along the lines, things changed, I can’t find you, a lot of people are looking for you, and four years later, I’ve lost bragging rights.

I miss you. The talks, tag along trips, even proofreading your documents and listening in on your conference calls. I found my passion for business and writing thanks to you. And more than likely, I also owe my skills to you as well.

Everyone’s so grown up, you probably wouldn’t even recognize us seven kids. We can all talk and walk on our own now, even shop. Haha.

My intent is not to put you on blast nor is this my pathetic public attempt for pity.  I just want you to know that I’m praying for you. I’m believing God to send someone to point you in the right direction. And someday, bring restoration to our relationship.

If you ever do read this, please don’t think that it’s by accident. I am being intentional.  While part of this is indeed somewhat therapeutic (haha) there is no way I’d just post my business online unless I thought there was a slight chance of you finding it, and I hope you do.

So if you’re looking for a reason to call me, here it is. I’ve kept my phone number as the same one you got me when I was fourteen.

So, happy birthday Dad. I love you.

How Small is Your Faith

6 Jul

Who are you to doubt Me?
Who placed you on dry land and redeems your broken heart?
Who mends your mind and replaces your mourning with laughter?
Who loved you before you were spoken into existence?

Why do you doubt
Who are you to unbelief
How small is your faith!
I move mountains and shake oceans,
I make you smile and remember your sorrows.
How much do you trust Me?

Are you willing?
How ready are you?
Be prepared!
But wait, when My timing’s right,
All will be clear.
Then my directions will be complete.
Then you will find fulfillment.

You can only dream,
I create your reality.
Hope in My words,
Have faith in My peace.

Don’t fret,
Be still my child.
I love every part of you,
I long for all of you.

Count on My words,
Cling to My promises,
I will not fail you.
Trade your temporary happiness
For My never ending joy.

Only in Me will you be accomplished.
Only through Me will you have peace.
Only with Me shall you prosper.

Only because of Me will you meet the one,
the one designed to accompany you in this journey.
Created to abide in My love,
Predestined into your life.
Equipped beyond measure,
And far better than you’ve imagined.
I desire to give you My best,
Don’t settle for mediocre,
My plans are not out of reach.

I turn the tide,
I change the seasons.
I create your reality,
Be patient My darling,
Wait on Me,
Trust in Me,
How small is your faith.

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