CONTINUED.....
The vendor. One man probably impacted my trip in Nicaragua more than any other. He was a slender guy, probably in his early twenties. I saw him on my first day in Diriamba. Mentally, he was a little lower functioning than most adults. He carried a bag of candy, selling 2 pieces for a small coin. As he stepped onto our bus, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. Our eyes met and locked. There was nothing physically striking about him, but there was something defining in his spirit. His gaze held an assurance, innocence, and a peace I hadn’t seen.
With street noises, vendors shouting, and people talking on the bus, he began to sing. His voice wasn’t clear or strong or even beautiful. But, I was struck again. I didn’t know what he was singing but I had to listen. Then, he proceeded to sell his candy. Most people ignored him. After he left, I couldn’t get the humbling image of him out of my mind.
Days later, on another bus at another location, he stepped on. The same bag of candy was in his hands. This time it was a lot emptier. My heart sank when I saw this. It had been days and he hadn’t even sold all of the candy in his bag. How did he live off of less than 50 cents a day? He was in the same stained white shirt. And, then he sang. Above all the noise on the bus, he sang.
I turned to Kari and asked what he was singing about. She looked at me, “He says that God is the only thing that can satisfy man. He sings praise to God before he sells his candy.”
Here was a man who rose every morning to wander the streets and vend for not even enough to survive and he praised God. I found myself purchasing candy from him. I didn’t want the candy but I had to do something.
My heart cried out. “God, he is yours! He praises You when he has nothing. I am discontent when I have more than enough.” I continued to pray as we stepped off the bus and into the streets. I found myself praying that like the woman in the Bible whose oil never ran out, God would provide for this young man. That he would always have enough. His heart was so pure.
I smiled as I thought of his treasure in heaven. How foolish are we. Those who appear of little value in our world are the closest and dearest to God’s heart.
I could say so much more about my trip, but little could a book hold what God started in me. I faced trials like getting robbed, getting a parasite, being eaten alive by mosquitoes, taking freezing cold showers, and sweating day and night. It was not the most comfortable place to be. Yet, somehow I walked away fuller. Despite all the bad, God was there. God loves Nicaragua and the people in it. God continued to put the desire of missions in my heart.
It would be easy to go home, make good money, live well, be comfortable but I would be missing the fullness of what God can do in me. God doesn’t need me to impact the world. I can offer nothing to His cause, but I am held in awe by how He longs for me. He wants to use me…. Me of all people! Nicaragua was a first step, a glimpse into what He can do.
In Plato’s “Republic”, there is a cave analogy. In it people have spent their whole lives being chained to a cave wall. Shadows from a fire cast on the wall are their only reality. They are unaware of anything outside of the cave and those shadows. I realized at that point, my life was only a partial truth. I had only lived in a fraction of what the world is really like, of what people really experience. I could crawl back into the cave and be comforted by my mere shadows or I can face the world outside. To grow in the fullness of drawing closer to the heart of God. This is where I want to live.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Monday, October 25, 2010
NICARAGUA (Part 2)
Continued...
The kids. You had to be in Nicaragua no more than a few hours before you started falling in love with the kids. While many of the adults appeared indifferent, the kids were anything but. They all had beautiful round faces with big dark brown eyes and bigger smiles. They wanted to know you, where you were from; they all wanted to be held by you. Even the shy ones longed for your attention. I remember coming back from the ocean on my first day only to be greeted by about 6 boys and a little girl waiting at the front gate. These were the neighborhood kids. Turns out they were almost all related. The “primos” as I dubbed them. They all asked a thousand questions in Spanish. Laughing, pointing, and playing around.
Unlike my experience with American kids, Nicaraguan kids were much more independent. They wandered the streets, came in and out of the house, and looked out for each other. We spent evenings with 10 or so kids sprawled out on the tile floors, sharing a handful of colored pencils. Laughing, singing, and vying for our attention. While some got rough with each other, and they could be wound-up from time to time, they lacked the spoiled nature of a lot of kids I have been around. They had a contentment I was not use to experiencing. And, they loved. I felt immediately loved and accepted by these little people.
Fernando. The oldest of the kids was Fernando. It was love at first sight. He was the natural born leader of the group. He had one of the most handsome little faces with big dimples, a crooked smile, and an intelligence in his eyes that proceeded his years. He was small for eleven years, but most Nicaraguans were smaller than me. He had compassionate soul even though he had faced a lot of hardship at his tender age. He was special. I pray for that boy on a daily basis. People will look to him for guidance as they get older. He is at a crossroads. He will either be a great man of God or do a lot of evil. I can’t help but see God’s hand in that boy’s life. I immediately wanted to love him, to take care of him, to raise him, and to just hold him in my arms and take away all the hurt he had faced. Oh, but how much more does our God love him!
Fernando was a revelation for me. I always knew that one day I would want to adopt kids but had no idea how I could pick one when so many needed to be loved and cared for. I was made aware of how possible it was. I also realized in a heartbeat, I could give up all of my “freedoms” as a single person to make a better life for someone else.
Transportation. If going anywhere nearby, you walk. We walked all over the city, to the barrio, out to Orlando’s farm. If we wanted to go to another city, we hopped into an old van filled with people and paid about 5 cents. If you like your personal space, you will not survive. The van was crammed with people. Then, we rumbled off to the next destination, the person who collected money hanging out the window shouting our destination to anyone we passed, hoping to get a few more passengers. If we were going anywhere far away, we took the bus. Normally, it was an old school bus with painted images of saints and the Virgin Mary over the front dash. The bus didn’t leave until it was full. And, not just every seat full, but every molecule of space. Roofing materials, tires, shopping bags, pets, and people were crammed in. Three to a seat and standing room was taken. You couldn’t fall over and we bounced and fast speeds down the Pan American. The breeze blew through the open windows cooling us all down. Amazingly, there was no smell of humanity. Nicaraguans are very conscious of their personal hygiene. The bus mostly smelled of blooming plants from outside, car exhaust, and cologne.
At every stop, vendors somehow found a way to walk up and down the aisles, shouting out their goods, and selling to the passengers. How they maneuvered around people, I’m not sure but it worked.
My favorite part of the rides were when all of the school children packed onto the bus. They all were wearing their white collared shirts; blue slacks or skirts and carried their packs. They laughed and pushed. They made eye contact and smiled. Then they would reach their stop, and run off down a muddy side road or chase a soccer ball. I was amazed at how clean they always looked when the red dirt of the roads were muddy and rutted.
The kids. You had to be in Nicaragua no more than a few hours before you started falling in love with the kids. While many of the adults appeared indifferent, the kids were anything but. They all had beautiful round faces with big dark brown eyes and bigger smiles. They wanted to know you, where you were from; they all wanted to be held by you. Even the shy ones longed for your attention. I remember coming back from the ocean on my first day only to be greeted by about 6 boys and a little girl waiting at the front gate. These were the neighborhood kids. Turns out they were almost all related. The “primos” as I dubbed them. They all asked a thousand questions in Spanish. Laughing, pointing, and playing around.
Unlike my experience with American kids, Nicaraguan kids were much more independent. They wandered the streets, came in and out of the house, and looked out for each other. We spent evenings with 10 or so kids sprawled out on the tile floors, sharing a handful of colored pencils. Laughing, singing, and vying for our attention. While some got rough with each other, and they could be wound-up from time to time, they lacked the spoiled nature of a lot of kids I have been around. They had a contentment I was not use to experiencing. And, they loved. I felt immediately loved and accepted by these little people.
Fernando. The oldest of the kids was Fernando. It was love at first sight. He was the natural born leader of the group. He had one of the most handsome little faces with big dimples, a crooked smile, and an intelligence in his eyes that proceeded his years. He was small for eleven years, but most Nicaraguans were smaller than me. He had compassionate soul even though he had faced a lot of hardship at his tender age. He was special. I pray for that boy on a daily basis. People will look to him for guidance as they get older. He is at a crossroads. He will either be a great man of God or do a lot of evil. I can’t help but see God’s hand in that boy’s life. I immediately wanted to love him, to take care of him, to raise him, and to just hold him in my arms and take away all the hurt he had faced. Oh, but how much more does our God love him!
Fernando was a revelation for me. I always knew that one day I would want to adopt kids but had no idea how I could pick one when so many needed to be loved and cared for. I was made aware of how possible it was. I also realized in a heartbeat, I could give up all of my “freedoms” as a single person to make a better life for someone else.
Transportation. If going anywhere nearby, you walk. We walked all over the city, to the barrio, out to Orlando’s farm. If we wanted to go to another city, we hopped into an old van filled with people and paid about 5 cents. If you like your personal space, you will not survive. The van was crammed with people. Then, we rumbled off to the next destination, the person who collected money hanging out the window shouting our destination to anyone we passed, hoping to get a few more passengers. If we were going anywhere far away, we took the bus. Normally, it was an old school bus with painted images of saints and the Virgin Mary over the front dash. The bus didn’t leave until it was full. And, not just every seat full, but every molecule of space. Roofing materials, tires, shopping bags, pets, and people were crammed in. Three to a seat and standing room was taken. You couldn’t fall over and we bounced and fast speeds down the Pan American. The breeze blew through the open windows cooling us all down. Amazingly, there was no smell of humanity. Nicaraguans are very conscious of their personal hygiene. The bus mostly smelled of blooming plants from outside, car exhaust, and cologne.
At every stop, vendors somehow found a way to walk up and down the aisles, shouting out their goods, and selling to the passengers. How they maneuvered around people, I’m not sure but it worked.
My favorite part of the rides were when all of the school children packed onto the bus. They all were wearing their white collared shirts; blue slacks or skirts and carried their packs. They laughed and pushed. They made eye contact and smiled. Then they would reach their stop, and run off down a muddy side road or chase a soccer ball. I was amazed at how clean they always looked when the red dirt of the roads were muddy and rutted.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
NICARAGUA (Part 1)
It’s been a few months since I was in Nicaragua. Life seems to just flash by sometimes. But, I want to revisit it. I don’t want to forget. There was so much to take in, I think I’ll look back years later and fully realize the impact those 10 days had on my life.
Nicaragua was my first step back into foreign missions since I was a child. I was amazed at how many forgotten memories flashed through my mind just due to smells and hearing Spanish all around me. I was more impacted by how little I saw as a child.
We circled the Managua airport for about an hour in the plane. The fog was so thick and the thunderstorm so bad, we couldn’t land. Finally we were cleared for landing…. Right about when the power went out at the airport. We hit the ground with great force, the plane braking and a skidding sideways. I am normally terrified of flying but for some reason, all I could do was laugh as people on the plane screamed. Welcome to Nicaragua.
We passed through the dark and quiet city as rain pounded the fogged windows of the car. I saw a few billboards plastered with smiling dark-haired people who looked more “American” than Nicaraguan. After an hour drive through thick fog on the Pan American Highway, we reached Diriamba. Within five minutes of entering Kari and Andrea’s home, I saw a gecko, a mouse, and a cockroach. The first two critters did not bother me nearly as much as the palm-sized insect. Andrea stepped on it. Crunch, white ooze spilled out of the body.
The smells. Diriamba smelled like no other place I have been. The air was thick with humidity and burning. Most people cooked on wood stoves due to costs of electric and gas. They also burned their trash. If it is possible, the air smelled strongly of wet smoke. Due to thunderstorms on a daily basis, it permeated even from the water, clinging to your skin and clothes. After a few days, however, it was almost unnoticeable.
The sounds. Unlike nights in the United States with background noises of electronics and clocks or perhaps traffic on the street, it was silent. Once it grew dark, everyone went inside and it was quiet. Usually a storm interrupted the quiet to rain down into the courtyards and beat on the tin roofs. The silence would occasionally be broken by the throaty calls of a gecko. Until you’ve heard one, you can’t really understand.
Dogs would bark from time to time. Then it would be eerily silent again only to have a mango drop from a tree onto the tin roof. Bam! It sounded like an explosion, jerking me awake with my heart racing. On a windy night they would drop and roll down the roof at a frequent rate. The noise was so loud you thought a full grown person had jumped onto the roof. Finally, whistles would sound throughout the night. It was night guards checking the streets. I wasn’t sure if the whistles were to warn or something or signal that all was well.
Mornings came early. The sun came up around 5 am and so did the city. It started with cries of children awakening, dogs barking in the homes, and pigs. Oh, yes, the neighbors had a pig. The pig went through a ritualistic death squeal at just about 5 am every morning. He wasn’t dying. He was just practicing it. I would roll over and attempt to stop my ears with the pillow but it did no good. Carts and taxis rumbled by, blaring horns and people walking up and down the streets shouting out goods to buy. Someone stood out side the gate inquiring if we wanted any plantains or pico.
Since the houses consisted of plaster walls shared by neighbors, tile floors, open court yards, and tin roofs with no insulation, you had no choice but to share your life with the neighbors.
Getting ready in the morning didn’t take much. We munched on pico (a triangular refined white bread with sugar), did our best to emulate a mocha, and spread out throughout the house to read our Bibles and journal. There was a lot to journal.
Toiletry was as primitive as modern day allows. With a small broken mirror propped up on the table, we took turns doing our hair. Mine was so curly from the humidity I was lucky if I could run a brush through it. It just clung to my neck and forehead. The water rarely ran during the day, so we filled a bowl with water from the reserve and scrubbed down our faces and necks in the courtyard. We brushed our teeth over the drain which ran through the courtyard and then just spit into it…. Everything from the shower, sinks, etc ran through this open drain and out into the sewage.
Our laundry, towels and wash clothes were draped over the line in the courtyard or clinging to the metal gates at the openings of the different areas of the house. It took days for things to dry. If we were not quick enough, sometimes, it would rain on the drying clothes, adding to the days we had to wait for them to dry.
The streets. Imagine rows, upon rows of colorful but dirty houses with cracked and pealing paint. There were no yards, no spaces between buildings. All exterior walls were shared with the house next to yours.
Everything was behind metal bars. Andrea and Kari had a small front courtyard with some plants but metal gates with a bar covered roof led into their front door. The front door had another metal gate. The sidewalks varied in height and were much narrower than in the United States. The streets were paved mostly with bricks and were deeply rutted with potholes. Trash and mud filled in the cracks. Starving dogs wandered up and down the streets while people, cars, horses, carts, and bikes all avoided hitting each other. Taxi horns blared to communicate anything from “get out of the way” to “do you need a ride”. While it doesn’t sound appealing, there was an incredible charm and personality to the streets. Everything seemed so much closer, people sat with their doors and windows open, calling out to one another.
The barrio. The barrio was another story. The roads that ran through were mud and dirt. Homes were plane cinderblock with packed dirt floors. There weren’t always doors but open holes for windows and doors. They had yards in the barrio, protected by crude barbed wire fences and strung with clothes lines. A lot of their toilets were separate from their homes and their sinks were set up in the front yard rather than in the house. Barefoot children ran around in their underwear and peeped at us from behind plants and doorways.
“Adios,” they shouted and then quickly blushed and averted their eyes.
..... to be continued.
Nicaragua was my first step back into foreign missions since I was a child. I was amazed at how many forgotten memories flashed through my mind just due to smells and hearing Spanish all around me. I was more impacted by how little I saw as a child.
We circled the Managua airport for about an hour in the plane. The fog was so thick and the thunderstorm so bad, we couldn’t land. Finally we were cleared for landing…. Right about when the power went out at the airport. We hit the ground with great force, the plane braking and a skidding sideways. I am normally terrified of flying but for some reason, all I could do was laugh as people on the plane screamed. Welcome to Nicaragua.
We passed through the dark and quiet city as rain pounded the fogged windows of the car. I saw a few billboards plastered with smiling dark-haired people who looked more “American” than Nicaraguan. After an hour drive through thick fog on the Pan American Highway, we reached Diriamba. Within five minutes of entering Kari and Andrea’s home, I saw a gecko, a mouse, and a cockroach. The first two critters did not bother me nearly as much as the palm-sized insect. Andrea stepped on it. Crunch, white ooze spilled out of the body.
The smells. Diriamba smelled like no other place I have been. The air was thick with humidity and burning. Most people cooked on wood stoves due to costs of electric and gas. They also burned their trash. If it is possible, the air smelled strongly of wet smoke. Due to thunderstorms on a daily basis, it permeated even from the water, clinging to your skin and clothes. After a few days, however, it was almost unnoticeable.
The sounds. Unlike nights in the United States with background noises of electronics and clocks or perhaps traffic on the street, it was silent. Once it grew dark, everyone went inside and it was quiet. Usually a storm interrupted the quiet to rain down into the courtyards and beat on the tin roofs. The silence would occasionally be broken by the throaty calls of a gecko. Until you’ve heard one, you can’t really understand.
Dogs would bark from time to time. Then it would be eerily silent again only to have a mango drop from a tree onto the tin roof. Bam! It sounded like an explosion, jerking me awake with my heart racing. On a windy night they would drop and roll down the roof at a frequent rate. The noise was so loud you thought a full grown person had jumped onto the roof. Finally, whistles would sound throughout the night. It was night guards checking the streets. I wasn’t sure if the whistles were to warn or something or signal that all was well.
Mornings came early. The sun came up around 5 am and so did the city. It started with cries of children awakening, dogs barking in the homes, and pigs. Oh, yes, the neighbors had a pig. The pig went through a ritualistic death squeal at just about 5 am every morning. He wasn’t dying. He was just practicing it. I would roll over and attempt to stop my ears with the pillow but it did no good. Carts and taxis rumbled by, blaring horns and people walking up and down the streets shouting out goods to buy. Someone stood out side the gate inquiring if we wanted any plantains or pico.
Since the houses consisted of plaster walls shared by neighbors, tile floors, open court yards, and tin roofs with no insulation, you had no choice but to share your life with the neighbors.
Getting ready in the morning didn’t take much. We munched on pico (a triangular refined white bread with sugar), did our best to emulate a mocha, and spread out throughout the house to read our Bibles and journal. There was a lot to journal.
Toiletry was as primitive as modern day allows. With a small broken mirror propped up on the table, we took turns doing our hair. Mine was so curly from the humidity I was lucky if I could run a brush through it. It just clung to my neck and forehead. The water rarely ran during the day, so we filled a bowl with water from the reserve and scrubbed down our faces and necks in the courtyard. We brushed our teeth over the drain which ran through the courtyard and then just spit into it…. Everything from the shower, sinks, etc ran through this open drain and out into the sewage.
Our laundry, towels and wash clothes were draped over the line in the courtyard or clinging to the metal gates at the openings of the different areas of the house. It took days for things to dry. If we were not quick enough, sometimes, it would rain on the drying clothes, adding to the days we had to wait for them to dry.
The streets. Imagine rows, upon rows of colorful but dirty houses with cracked and pealing paint. There were no yards, no spaces between buildings. All exterior walls were shared with the house next to yours.
Everything was behind metal bars. Andrea and Kari had a small front courtyard with some plants but metal gates with a bar covered roof led into their front door. The front door had another metal gate. The sidewalks varied in height and were much narrower than in the United States. The streets were paved mostly with bricks and were deeply rutted with potholes. Trash and mud filled in the cracks. Starving dogs wandered up and down the streets while people, cars, horses, carts, and bikes all avoided hitting each other. Taxi horns blared to communicate anything from “get out of the way” to “do you need a ride”. While it doesn’t sound appealing, there was an incredible charm and personality to the streets. Everything seemed so much closer, people sat with their doors and windows open, calling out to one another.
The barrio. The barrio was another story. The roads that ran through were mud and dirt. Homes were plane cinderblock with packed dirt floors. There weren’t always doors but open holes for windows and doors. They had yards in the barrio, protected by crude barbed wire fences and strung with clothes lines. A lot of their toilets were separate from their homes and their sinks were set up in the front yard rather than in the house. Barefoot children ran around in their underwear and peeped at us from behind plants and doorways.
“Adios,” they shouted and then quickly blushed and averted their eyes.
..... to be continued.
Monday, October 04, 2010
HECTIC LIFE, SWEET HECTIC LIFE
Well, I just spent the weekend moving in with one of my best friends. Life has been crazy with full-time work.... aka 40+ hours, moving, raising support for the land of Aussies, getting immunizations, filling out blue cards, and visa info, etc....
God is providing. I am currently between 3.5-4% funding. It's small but it's better than 0% any day.
I'm so excited to go, sometimes I cannot contain it. I need to stop anticipating just a little because I think I'm reaching the point it cannot possibly meet my expectations. I love Boise; I must live in the present and enjoy where I am at.
This weekend was a good reminder how many amazing things God has done for me over the years. I was leading worship at Sunday school when I realized how hard it will be to leave those kids. I've been serving with them for over 4 years! I get so many hugs on Sunday. Elle made me a clay cat and drawings.
Met with a friend of mine, Christina, this weekend for coffee. What an encouragement! God totally brought her, Janat, and I together in a big way with Janat's planning to move to Krygzstan. It has spilled into our relationships beyond being Janat's accountability. Praise God for amazing people in our lives! Praise God for putting His desires on our hearts!
I wish I had something deep or more informative to say, but I am currently brain dead from a long day of work and life. Now, to eat, run, and put away more of my boxes.
Love you all. Will update more later. Need to put up my in depth post about Nicaragua soon.
God is providing. I am currently between 3.5-4% funding. It's small but it's better than 0% any day.
I'm so excited to go, sometimes I cannot contain it. I need to stop anticipating just a little because I think I'm reaching the point it cannot possibly meet my expectations. I love Boise; I must live in the present and enjoy where I am at.
This weekend was a good reminder how many amazing things God has done for me over the years. I was leading worship at Sunday school when I realized how hard it will be to leave those kids. I've been serving with them for over 4 years! I get so many hugs on Sunday. Elle made me a clay cat and drawings.
Met with a friend of mine, Christina, this weekend for coffee. What an encouragement! God totally brought her, Janat, and I together in a big way with Janat's planning to move to Krygzstan. It has spilled into our relationships beyond being Janat's accountability. Praise God for amazing people in our lives! Praise God for putting His desires on our hearts!
I wish I had something deep or more informative to say, but I am currently brain dead from a long day of work and life. Now, to eat, run, and put away more of my boxes.
Love you all. Will update more later. Need to put up my in depth post about Nicaragua soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)