Leader Biographies - First Year Missionary
Radical discipleship for college students wanting to follow Jesus' model

Crystal Reitsma’s Bio: (Mexico FYM Resident Advisor & Spanish Teacher)
I was born in 1973 at Clark Air Force Base on the Philippine Islands, because my dad was in the Navy.  The two months I spent there I know only through pictures, but God had a purpose for this time.  I am blessed that my parents and both sets of grandparents have Christian backgrounds and beliefs.  After my dad attended Bible college in Colorado, we moved to Maine. 

I was saved when I was four or five during vacation Bible school.  I think my mom led me to Christ, but my memory of it is more hers than mine.  For that reason, I accepted Christ over and over again until I was about seven, afraid of not having truly done it right.  The fear of hell was strong in my young mind.  Afraid for the souls of others as well, I was passionate about sharing Jesus with our neighbors, or in the supermarket and laundromat.

When I was eleven or so, I distinctly remember standing on our small road in the summer, looking up at the white clouds in the blue sky overhead, and asking God what He wanted to do with my life.  “Missionary” I heard, and so I asked, “To where?”  I don’t remember the answer—Africa or South America or Mexico—because immediately the ridiculousness of an 11-year-old going to the mission field entered my mind.  I didn’t understand then that God’s timing and ours can be very different.  So I convinced myself that I had not heard God’s voice, and carried on with my life.

By the time I entered high school, I had learned that not everyone wants to hear about Jesus.  He was not necessarily loved by all or even “cool.”  I attended a prep school known for its intellectualism, money, and drugs among the rich kids.  I lived the Christian life quietly in my habits, but stopped sharing my faith verbally as much as possible.  My identity was consumed in what I did, in my grades and success in track.  I graduated valedictorian and won the state title in the 100m hurdles my senior year.  Yet when a struggling friend asked me why I was different from other teens, I ashamedly answered that it must have something to do with my family.  Little good were my accomplishments in light of eternity.

I went on to a secular college and immediately joined Intervarsity Christian Fellowship.  The challenge of living far from home in an all-or-nothing environment woke me up to knowing why I believed what I did and living it out.  My college days were years of great growth in faith, but also of immature stumbling.  I was book smart, but lacked heart knowledge of God in many ways.  I was susceptible to the cultural dream of marriage, kids, and the happily-ever-after, have-it-all life.

My sophomore year, I became madly infatuated with a 27-year-old family friend, but he wasn’t a Christian.  At Christmas when I went home, he accepted Christ and a week later asked me out.  I prayed about it, heard a “no” and rationalized it into a “yes.”  Jeremiah 17:9 is so true: “The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure.  Who can understand it?”  

During the next six months, I knew I was living in disobedience, but was unwilling to change.  My boyfriend had grown farther and farther from God as a new Christian, and I would not let go.  Fortunately, he broke it off with me.  God is merciful!  That year was one of hard lessons and even now, that disobedience has its lasting repercussions.

Right after we broke up, I went to Mexico to study for a semester in Morelia, Michoacan.  I was brokenhearted, but God continued to pursue me.  I attended a church called Vida Abundante and learned much about the joy in worship.  God blessed me with good Christian friends and despite my self-pity, taught me much about loving other cultures and peoples of the world.  When I came back from Mexico, I had surgery on my jaw and spent the next two months at college, speechless.  Through that God taught me a lot about listening, really listening, and what it is like to live handicapped.

During my senior year, two men spoke on campus about racial reconciliation and challenged us to step outside our comfort zones.  I moved into the “bi-cultural” dorm, the only white girl living there.  Outside my comfort zone is an understatement.  Besides the former gang members from the Bronx, I lived with Jamaicans, Haitians, and one loud Asian.  That semester, I learned about my prejudices, blind spots, and what it is like to be a minority.

When I graduated from college with a Spanish major and a math minor, I had no idea what I wanted to do.  The mission field was far from my mind, and I had already informed God that I wanted nothing to do with long hours of teaching, vicious teenagers, or public speaking.  Ironically, the only job I could find back in Maine was a low-paying, part-time job at a Christian high school teaching Spanish and math.  There’s not much else I could do with my degree, especially since I wasn’t certified as a teacher.

During the first year of teaching, I finally learned what it meant to fail at what I did.  Every day I wondered why I was there, what on earth I could possibly be teaching these kids, and why driving into a telephone pole was not an option.  I felt that God had asked for a two-year commitment, and by Christmas I was desperate.  “If You want me here for another year, You need to change my attitude,” I told God.  The next week I received a note from a girl I had to discipline for swearing.  She was one of the cool teens who I was pretty sure drank and partied, who wanted a boyfriend more than anything, and whose Christianity was more cultural than sincere.  She told me she was upset with herself for disappointing me, and apologized.  The mission field and my purpose in a Christian high school became suddenly apparent and my attitude improved drastically.

The next year, I shared an apartment with a college student who became one of my best friends and an accountability partner.  She had the gift of evangelism, and challenged me to share my faith more often.  I taught for a third year and burned out shortly thereafter.  I quit, adamant that I would never teach again.  I looked for any other job possible in my state, and discovered that God knows what we need more than we do ourselves.

At the end of the summer, my former youth leader asked me to consider teaching at a school in Quito, Ecuador, where he and his family were missionaries.  An interdenominational school in Ecuador for missionary kids sounded much more exciting and manageable than teaching obstinate students at a legalistic church school.  I only lacked my teaching certificate.  I enrolled in classes two weeks after they started at the University of Maine, and finished the year in Vermont doing my student teaching.  All this only to find out in April that the missionary in Ecuador didn’t need a teacher anymore.  So I did the most likely thing with a teaching degree: I looked for work at the public schools in Maine.  Starting over again, I learned perseverance in failure and God’s grace in my life. 

After awhile, the same friend moved in with me.  The next year, she became suddenly depressed, and I learned much about persevering in friendship.  When she got married, I began an incredible half year, one of the best times in my life.  I had already been on my first Adventures In Missions trip to Saltillo, Mexico, and God broke my heart for the boys who lived across the street from where we stayed.  Then I went to Matamoros on a mission trip that Bob Waag led, and I did door-to-door evangelism with much fear and trembling. 

I started working with the youth group at my church, a long shot from my vow to never work with teenagers.  I loved it.  My classes at the public school were finally going well, and I was building deep relationships with the students.  In February, I went to Tijuana with the youth from my church.  When I returned home, I clearly heard God’s call away from Maine.  He showed me the numbness of my “safe” life and addressed each fear I had in surrendering completely to Him.  I resigned at the end of the school year and started looking at options.  Bob Waag was the first person I called.

In August, I sold or gave away most of all I had and drove to Mexico.  I love what God has been teaching me about Himself and His love for me.  Hearing God’s voice and obeying it is a lesson I will ever cherish.  I understand what it means to be a daughter of God and not just a servant.  My relationship with my earthly father has also been restored as I learned what it means to honor and submit to authority in love.  Besides teaching Spanish and building relationships with people in the community, I also love the discipleship aspect of my ministry here.  I work with some of the same people I met when I was here in 2003!

Before, all I understood about discipleship was that it was that I lacked it.  My one church class instantaneously conferred “discipleship” with the completion of a workbook.  Discipling others as part of my job description became one of my biggest fears in coming to Matamoros.  Now I love the concept of discipleship as life on life, friendship, vulnerability, honesty, and passing on to others what you have already learned as you grow together in Christ.  I love seeing people that I love grow, seeing families changed, and in spite of my failings and weaknesses, seeing God’s glory shine through in the lives of others.

Crystal Reitsma
FYM Resident Advisor & Spanish Teacher
Adventures In Missions - Matamoros, Mexico

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