Incommunicado...

Today, Jim and I are celebrating our 12th wedding anniversary. And you know where he's taking me? To Rio!!!!!! No, not Rio de Janeiro but Rio Blanco. I know many of you are aware we are going to be leaving this morning to lead a team of 11 people from South Carolina...we're going up to Rio Blanco to spend a week doing construction work, VBS activities and some home outreach. We will be working with the church plant up there. Along with the team, we have 5 translators and a bus driver. None have been to Rio Blanco before and only the team leader has ever traveled out of the country...he has been been here before. For a few, this will be their first mission trip of any kind.
Last night, we drove up to meet the team at their hotel...it is just down the road from the airport. Their plane was delayed by about 1/2 an hour and then there were 4 mission teams who came in on the same flight...I guess customs was a nightmare. The authorities are really putting some of the teams through the paces these days...a result of the political climate here, I'm sure.
Anyway, what that equates to is we didn't get home until almost midnight last night and still had packing to do. So, after about 3 1/2 hours sleep, we're getting ready to head to church and then head on up to the mountains...a 4 - 4 1/2 hour drive. Then we can check in to our luxurious accommodations...a thin mattress on wood slats, thread-bare mismatched sheets and pillows stuffed with rags...we're taking a blanket and our own pillows. Hot water? Not hardly...the water from the hotel is mountain spring-fed and so it is icy cold...including the shower. I can hardly wait...you just have to love a man who comes up with such creative ways to celebrate 12 years of wedded bliss!
We will not be taking our laptop with us, leaving it instead with the Buzbees who are some other missionary friends we have here for safekeeping. As a result, I will not be "blogging" until after we return from R. B. I am going to try to make notes on anything I think might be of interest to you so that I can share those experiences when I am finally able to sit and do this again. We will be back home next Saturday.
We would appreciate your prayers for all of us...the team, the support staff and for us - for health, safety, wisdom, etc. But most of all, I ask that you pray that we would see God's amazing hand at work this week.
Until next time.

An unshakeable Kingdom...

Okay…how many of you remember that old Carole King song, “I Feel the Earth Move”? You know…
I feel the earth move under my feet,
I feel the sky tumbling down,
I feel my heart start to trembling
Whenever you're around.

Or perhaps, that’s too old and I have to admit, it is a secular song, so here’s one of my favorites that perhaps might be more appropriate for what I’m about to share. It’s called, “Did You Feel the Mountains Tremble”. That song has been done by numerous artists – Matt Redman, Delirious, Sonic Flood and my personal favorite rendition is by RiverTribe. The lyrics were written by a guy named Martin Smith and they’re great, even if you aren’t familiar with the music.

Did you feel the mountains tremble?
Did you hear the oceans roar?
When the people rose to sing of
Jesus Christ the risen one

Did you feel the people tremble?
Did you hear the singers roar?
When the lost began to sing of
Jesus Christ the risen one

And we can see that God you're moving
A mighty river through the nations
And young and old will turn to Jesus
Fling wide your heavenly gates
Prepare the way of the risen Lord

Open up the doors and let the music play
Let the streets resound with singing
Songs that bring your hope
Songs that bring your joy
Dancers who dance upon injustice

Did you feel the darkness tremble?
When all the saints join in one song
And all the streams flow as one river
To wash away our brokenness

And here we see that God you're moving
A time of Jubilee is coming
When young and old return to Jesus
Fling wide your heavenly gates
Prepare the way of the risen Lord.

Well, Jim and I experienced just a few moments of our own earth moving and mountain trembling last night. We were privy to our first tremor…as in the house was shaking just a bit! I was sitting on the loveseat in front of the computer table and Jim was perched on the arm of the loveseat. All of a sudden, it started vibrating and then began moving up and down, like it was being shaken. I looked at Jim, initially thinking he was kicking the loveseat, but as the movement became more intense coupled with the expression on his face, I knew it wasn’t anything he was doing!

I just kept looking at Jim and when he looked up at the ceiling, it dawned on me what was happening. I had my back to it but he said the piece of furniture that we use for all our electronics – the computer, printer, modem, etc. was moving also. The whole thing didn’t last longer than a few moments, but it was long enough that it got our attention! It was the strangest sensation, kind of rolling-like and surprisingly enough, neither of us became frightened but I can tell you it certainly heightened our “sensitivity levels”. Jim went outside and asked our guard if he felt the movement.

He was very blasé about the whole thing and said it was common. Jim told him it wasn’t common for us! Osvaldo said that if it got worse and became an earthquake, we should go stand in a doorway. I thought to myself, if it gets worse and becomes an earthquake, I think I’ll just skip the doorway and go straight on to heaven! It was one of those moments I don’t know if I would want to necessarily experience again but at the same time, it was so new and different from anything I’ve ever experienced before, that it was a bit exciting. I can say that because it didn’t turn out to be anything of any consequence. And when I think about it, that’s pretty much the way life is here…sometimes kind of shaky and out of our control.

Right after it occurred, I called Mandy and asked her to pray for I was just sure there would be another one, maybe even a stronger one…there wasn’t. I will give her the credit for prayerful intercession. We visited for awhile and then got off the phone. In reflecting over that event, I knew I wanted to share this with you…it was just such an un-Cassville-like moment. But as I was writing this, I was also reminded that in reality, God is the Mover and Shaker of our world and if we can just keep that in our minds and entrenched in our hearts, maybe we will ride the next tremor out viewing it like a free carnival ride! No matter how much we may rock and roll here, we know that someday, we will inherit a Kingdom that cannot be shaken.

See to it that you do not refuse him who speaks. If they did not escape when they refused him who warned them on earth, how much less will we, if we turn away from him who warns us from heaven? At that time his voice shook the earth, but now he has promised, "Once more I will shake not only the earth but also the heavens." The words "once more" indicate the removing of what can be shaken-that is, created things-so that what cannot be shaken may remain. Therefore, since we are receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, let us be thankful, and so worship God acceptably with reverence and awe, for our "God is a consuming fire."
Hebrews 12:25-29

Heart exercise...

I don’t know if I have told you or not but God has brought a new person in to our daily lives. We can see He is building a small community all around us and once we learn this language…watch out! We now have an addition to our “payroll” and another person with whom we are beginning to slowly build a relationship.

There was a young man who came to Don Carlos seeking work a few weeks back. He lives with his father, his wife and their little boy who is 1 ½ years old. His name is Freddie. Don Carlos agreed to hire him to do general maintenance and yard work…his brother-in-law from the States was coming to visit and he wanted the place spruced up, so he hired him to work 3 days a week. He really didn’t have enough for him to do to hire him full time. Here’s where we come in the picture. Don Carlos talked to Jim about it and we agreed to hire him the other three days of the week so he would have a full time job. The hitch in this was that with his wages, lunch is also provided. We are gone so much of the time that we told Don Carlos we couldn’t do the lunch thing but he said that wouldn’t be a problem and Paulita, his housekeeper could go ahead and feed him all 6 days and we weren’t to worry about the food. He said he’s so thankful we’re in his house that it is not an issue…he is so good to us.

Now before I go any further, I want to assure you, Orlando’s position is not in jeopardy and he takes great pleasure in having a “youngster” to do the tough stuff…although I noticed Orlando still has claim on the garbage. Still, it’s been a bit of a relief to see that Orlando’s no longer doing the strenuous work that he was and that he is resting more. Freddie takes Orlando in stride and there doesn’t seem to be any friction there – at least none that I have yet to notice.

Freddie is a worker. He is usually out working by 7:00 a.m. and stops only for lunch and an occasional break – usually to go look for ripened mangos or lemons. He works magic with a machete – trimming trees, pruning bushes and cleaning out fence rows. He weeded our front yard by getting down on his hands and knees and hand-pulling out each weed, using the tip of the machete to get the roots out. He pulled out the grass and weeds that were coming up in between the driveway pavers. He cleans up all the refuse and takes it down to the Deep Dark Woods – the place we don’t go. But today, as hot as it is, he’s out there cutting our grass with the machete. I had to get the picture.

It’s really something to watch him. He uses a stick and holds the grass down and cuts it with a smooth and steady rhythm. Just the sound of it is relaxing. Mind you, this job can’t be done standing upright. Freddie is bent over the entire time and he works non-stop. It is so hot out and this guy just keeps on moving. He is always busy and when he finishes one project, he moves on to another. I think he’s glad to have found a job and wants to insure he keeps it. He lives about 6 miles away and usually takes the bus but has been known to walk. He’s a kid we like having around and we look forward to getting to know him better.

I just took him out a glass of cold water and a little package of cookies and he gave me the biggest grin…isn’t it something how such a small gesture can put a smile on someone’s face? And he thought that little snack made him feel better! I heard something this past week that was attributed to the recently deceased, Tim Russert. He had said the best exercise you could do for the heart was bending down to lift someone up. I think he was right…it’s good medicine for whatever ails you.

What??? No Germ-X?...

No pictures for this one. For those of you who don’t know, I’ve been dealing with some serious gastrointestinal problems the last 8 days. It hit me hard the day after we did the clinic and even after daily doses of Imodium and a round of Cipro, I’m still not much better than I was at the onset. So, after much discussion, and a 2 to 1 vote, it was decided that I needed to go visit the doctor this morning.

We had met this doctor once before when we were here last summer. There is a lady here in Managua named Miss Ruby who lives down by the dump. Many of the groups that come here go to visit Miss Ruby. She’s actually from Bluefields which is over on the Atlantic side and she’s Miskit Indian. Miss Ruby was ill last summer and could not (or would not) go to see the doctor. We went with Susanna to pick up Dr. Diaz to make a house call at Miss Ruby’s. She has little regard for physicians but she loved sparring and quizzing him on the Bible…as she does with everyone who enters her colorful little house.

Well, today was my turn to be treated by Dr. Diaz. Susanna picked us up about 8:30 this morning and we got to his place close to 9:00. He runs his practice out of what would have been the living room of his very modest little house and he and his family live in the rest of it, in a typical little neighborhood. It’s first come, first serve and the waiting room is his front porch. There were chairs set out on the porch and thankfully, it was shady. When we arrived, Susanna commented on how unusual it was that there wasn’t a group of people waiting, that he’s a very good doctor and is exceptionally good at tropical medicine. Sounded like my kind of doctor. The only other people there were the lady in seeing the doctor and a young woman waiting with her little girl, probably about 3-4 years old .

Although Dr. Diaz is a Minsa certified physician and surgeon, he does not work in a clinic or a hospital, choosing instead to be somewhat like a general practitioner of days gone by. There was no check-in window. No paperwork to fill out. No request for id or proof of insurance. No music in the background. No magazines. No television mounted up in the corner on the wall. No Norman Rockwell prints to smile about. Nothing other than 8 wooden chairs, a slight breeze, a wall of bougainvillea and the daily street business for entertainment. It was one of the most relaxing times I’ve ever had in a doctor’s “waiting room”.

When it was our turn to go in, Jim and Susanna accompanied me - Susanna to translate…Jim to worry. There wasn’t going to be anything private about this doctor’s visit, that was for sure. And honestly, the way I felt, it didn’t matter…I just wanted “fixed”. After being ushered in to the room, the door was double locked. The room, which had a working window air conditioner, was actually nice sized but it was packed. The walls had all kinds of anatomy charts posted on them along with scriptures that had been printed out from a computer; there was a cluttered bookcase on one wall which was filled with aged medical journals, magazines and an assortment of books that all looked like they had seen some wear and tear; a small sink was loosely attached to one wall; a very basic, old cantankerous examining table…sans protective paper took up another; shelves which held all kinds of emergency type items – bandages, alcohol, sprays, etc. were behind the doctor’s desk…none of the items were sealed – hermetically or otherwise; a small bathroom had been built in one corner and right in the middle of the room was Dr. Diaz’s desk with two chairs in front (topped with little upholstered cushions), his chair and his little examining stool to the side. There was a small older laptop on one corner of the desk and behind him, on a portable desk/table, was an old typewriter.

But the desk was the focal point without question. Piled high on it were mounds and mounds of medications…of all sorts. Because of the heat and humidity here, most medications come in little sealed packages vs. bottles containing loose tablets. Otherwise, the meds would mold…yes, it really does happen. I’ve seen vitamins that were only a few months old that had not been kept sealed up and they were beginning to be a bit furry. Bulk packaging is much more economical in the States, but here, it just translates in to waste. Back to the desk…it was amazing. I wondered how on earth he even knew what he had and if he did, how could he ever find it. If my dad were still living, he would have had a fit seeing medications just heaped up like that in total disarray. Obviously, Dr. Diaz doesn’t know that they are to be neatly lined on shelving in alphabetical order. I kept thinking to myself that this poor man needed a locked cabinet to keep his drugs in.
Somehow, in spite of obsessing about the mess on the desk, (the thought did cross my mind as to how I could manage to just tidy things up a bit without causing a great cultural offense…obviously, I couldn’t so I tried to avert my eyes), I also managed to notice there was no sanitizing soap dispenser on the wall and no sight of disposable gloves. As a matter of fact, I was beginning to notice just how dingy this little office was. It obviously needed a fresh coat of paint, there wasn’t even the faintest smell of antiseptic and I doubted seriously whether any hard surface had been wiped down prior to our coming in. There wasn’t even a sign of a single Germ-X bottle. For a moment, I wondered about just what kind of exam I was going to be given. But my thoughts were soon interrupted. The doctor was struggling trying to pronounce my name…he opted to go straight to his computer and start entering the info there.

After getting all my vital information via Susanna, including my formal education (I guess living to this age feeling the way I’ve felt the last week wasn’t that impressive). He then listened intently as Susanna told him of the week’s issues and unsuccessful course of treatment. Dr. Diaz asked question after question in rapid-fire succession. He talked a mile a minute and had a very busy manner about him. Reviewing all the info he had just entered in to his computer, he sat and looked at me for a few seconds and then jumped up, having Jim and me change seats so he could take my blood pressure.

He pulled out an old blood pressure cuff and very gently, placed it on my arm. Taking my blood pressure wasn’t remarkable…the gentleness of his touch surprised me. He listened to my heart, took my pulse and then escorted me to the examining table. He tapped on my kidneys for a few seconds, asked if I had pain and then gently laid me back on the table. I totally forgot there wasn’t any protective paper under me or even a pillow…with or without a disposable covering. Dr. Diaz gently and thoroughly pushed, prodded and poked on all parts of my stomach area. He then listened very intently with his stethoscope. Of course, all the rumblings and grumblings of protest that my stomach has been making for the last 8 days were non-existent…figures. Just like when you take the car to the mechanic, the mystery noise disappears. Or so I thought…seems he must have heard something because he immediately went back to his computer and began typing once again. Those same hands that had handled me so gently and carefully were now pecking furiously away.

He told us that I MUST promise not to drink any alcohol since he was putting me on a medication that would not mix well. We assured him that wouldn’t be an issue. Not good enough. He made me promise that I wouldn’t even eat any cakes or anything that had been made with alcohol. Again, we gave our word…oh fiddle…guess that rules out that oh, so yummy, frozen concoction, Rum Raisin Ice Cream. Not a problem.

Spinning around to his typewriter, he typed out my prescriptions and his instructions all on the same sheet…additional Imodium, a weeks’ worth of another antibiotic, a medication to hopefully take care of any nasty little amoebas that have opted to take up residence in my digestive tract and a 3 day course of rehydration fluid. Plus, the directive to call him tonight to let him know how I’m doing and again on Friday…he will be in Honduras until then at a conference on cardiology. He even typed in English in all capitals…CALL ME.

Then it came time to pay up. No statement, no billing, no credit card. Just hard, cold cordobas…40 of them. That equates to about $2.10…no wonder he couldn't afford a drug cabinet. He thanked us, reminded us to call him to let him know my progress or lack of and then he walked us to the door, unlocked both locks and gently but firmly ushered us out on the porch, oops – in to the waiting room, and called in his next patient. When we left, all 8 chairs were filled and it was obvious the wait was going to be lengthy for some of them. I remembered our monthly Saturday morning clinic and the inordinate patience we see exhibited there…and I was very, very thankful that my earlier wait had been so brief.

Obviously, medical care here is much different than in the States but there are similarities. There were no cultures taken, no lab work ordered and certainly not a sterile environment. There was a gentle, caring physician who had a very hurried manner but did anything but in his examination, understanding “sick” transcends all language barriers. And thirty minutes after entering an area I had viewed with such a critical eye, I left feeling very blessed to have been entrusted to this gentle man’s care…even the messy desk didn’t seem to matter anymore…I think I’m beginning to acclimate.

Q & A...

We have received so many questions about our life here and although we try to answer our e-mails in a somewhat timely manner, we’re discovering that there are so many factors that have changed from when we were communicating with one another at home. Sometimes our e-mails disappear while we’re in the process of writing them; sometimes if we’re actually able to try to save them to our draft file, they will store and other times, they’ve disappeared; sometimes they get sent only to bounce back; sometimes they get sent but don’t arrive, sometimes they get sent, don’t arrive and our sent file doesn’t even reflect that they were sent!; sometimes we don’t receive the ones we’ve been told have been sent; and this one happens the most – the signal is dropped in the middle of the send function and who knows what happens to the message?…so much of electronic communication in Nicaragua seems to be like that Las Vegas commercial on tv…what happens here stays here! Susanna has told us this is not at all uncommon and that all of the above happen to most of the missionaries to the point they’re not surprised…frustrated, but not surprised. I think it’s the prince of the air doing his own form of wire tapping!

So, in order to save us all a great deal of headaches coupled with the fact we would be responding with the same answers to different people, I’ve decided to do a little Q & A and hopefully, that will cover some of the things you are interested in. As if I weren’t “chatty” enough with the other blog entries, let me just issue a warning right now…this one takes some time...so either be prepared to be here awhile or else do it chunks...whichever works best for you - we're just glad you're here!

Q: What is the temperature like? Is it hot all the time?

A: Actually, right now, it’s not ridiculously hot like it was last month…although it’s plenty warm. Our temps have been in the low 90’s during the day and will even get down to the upper 70’s at night…but we’re up on a hill outside of Managua and we’re about 5-8 degrees cooler here than there. Today, we have a good strong breeze (which is great for drying clothes) and although we’ve had a mild morning, it’s going to be a hot afternoon, I can already tell. The sun is much more intense here and it is quite draining. Whoever said it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity, needs to spend some time in Managua…it’s both! And it does take some time to adjust. I started laundry this morning at 6:00 a.m. just so I could get the majority of it hung out before the heat of the day started in.

Q: Is your house like houses in the states?

A: Actually, our house is very much like a house you might find in south Florida. God has blessed us with a very nice house…although we do have our own wildlife preserve located between our ceiling and our roof…but we have learned to live with that. Our floors are all tile and our walls are a stucco-type material and we have a hand-crafted brick tile roof. We have screens on all our windows and iron bars secure each window and door. It is a very open style home and as a result, sound travels extremely well. There are no secrets in our house! Our furniture is basic and functional…although I have to admit, I splurged on an upholstered living room set…I just couldn’t hack the hard, un-cushioned couches that are typical for upholstered furniture here. We are also fortunate in that our house has a closet in each bedroom and actual closed cabinetry in the kitchen.

We do have hot water in two of our bathroom showers which is supplied by a handy little attachment lovingly called a “widow maker”. It is an electric water heater that is the actual shower head and is wired directly in to current. It is activated when the shower is turned on. The water actually goes over exposed coils inside the shower head and thus, hot water! Okay…it’s not really hot, but it’s pretty warm and no, it’s definitely not a UL or OSHA approved item…but it works. The trick is you do not want to touch the shower head while the water is running…now you know why they call it what they do! I have a washing machine but no dryer…it’s too expensive to operate here. We don’t have hot water anywhere else in the house so I wash in cold water and the dishes are done in cold water washed with an antibacterial liquid and paste…that one took some getting used to, believe me!

There are no garbage disposals and toilet paper cannot be flushed – it must be put in the trash…another adjustment. We don’t have air conditioning and we try not to run our fans unless we’re parked in front of them…again, a cost issue. We have a regular refrigerator, a microwave – which we plug in to a surge protector only for the time it’s being used and then unplug it again (same with all our small electrical items in the house as electricity is so expensive here) and a gas stove which is hooked up to a small propane tank when in use. The tank is kept in our laundry room and connected every day with a 20’ hose - the stove has Celcius markings…makes baking more of an adventure that way!

Q: How is the food?

A: Expensive. But isn’t that the case everywhere these days? The poorer people shop at the open air markets for their food whereas the Americans and the Nicas who happen to have a bit more income shop at grocery stores. The typical diet here is based on beans, rice, tortillas and platanos (resemble a banana but must be cooked to be eaten). Depending upon the income level of the family, other items that can supplement are eggs, chicken, cheese, fruit such as mango, avocado, pineapple, lemon etc. The main other vegetables eaten are corn – not sweet corn but more like field corn, tomatoes, onions, garlic and squash.

Now, that being said, I want to share with you some of the food things that we have found to be “new” to us…crema acida is like sour cream but it is liquidy and comes in a plastic bag…very good over red bean paste, I might add; guidilla – a sweet corn tortilla grilled between plantain leaves and served with a piece of soft white farmer’s cheese in a bowl of warm, sweet cream….very yummy!; quesillo is a piece of the cheese wrapped up in a torilla and put in a plastic baggie – then pickled onions are poured in to the tortilla and topped with warm cream and a pinch of salt…an acquired taste but very good; nacatamales – a combination of cornmeal outer wrapping surrounding pork, rice, potato, onion, tomato, green pepper and a mint leaf all wrapped up in a banana or plantain leaf like a package, tied with twine and boiled or steamed and is considered to be Nicaragua’s national folk food…good if it’s good; cacao which is a chocolate type drink…it makes a great smoothie! There are lots of other new and different foods as well as new ways to prepare old favorites…eating anywhere other than home is great if your adventurous.

The biggest hurdle I’ve yet to overcome is defining the cuts of meat here…and so far, everything that is beef (with the exception of ground beef) has been tough. I’m told it’s because the cattle here are so lean and I’ve also been advised to invest in either a crock pot or a pressure cooker. We’re eating a lot of chicken…

Q: What is driving like?

A: Insane. Actually, I’ve not driven yet. I think if we had an automatic transmission I would be more inclined to try it, but with all the hills and the crazy drivers here, I’m too intimidated to get behind the wheel of a standard transmission…that plus the fact I would probably have to live tranquilized after every driving experience has so far kept Jim in the driver’s seat.

Everyone drives as fast as they can and the lane markings seem to be suggestion only…because the roads are so terrible and filled with axle-breaking potholes, everyone fights to have the one patch of road that is the least destroyed…which so far, has always been the lane we’re in and has not mattered whether it is a truck next to us or a taxi barreling straight for us, whoever gets there first, seems to claim it. This on-going game of chicken somehow works and although every taxi and bus we’ve seen has dents all over it, we’ve seen very few accidents that have stopped traffic. It seems to be a matter of being able to drive as aggressively as possible, without flinching and yet somehow knowing when to back off at just the right moment…kind of like a mad, high-speed, 4-wheel chess game...I'm not sure I understand the strategy.

My place in all this is to grip the door handle, slam on the non-existent brake pedal in 15 second intervals, gasp and cringe in unison and at the same time, stay in constant communication with God about our safety and our desire to see our grandchildren again. It really is amazing the coordination that goes in to one of our daily outings.

Q: How can you live with all those bugs and things?

A: They came with the house. No, really…it’s Nicaragua and I will just take this opportunity to use what has become my favorite explanatory phrase which covers just about all circumstances…it is what it is.

Q: What do you miss most?

A: Our families and our friends. There are lots of things we miss on occasion but those “wish-I-had” attitudes come and go depending on the mood. There is a constant longing though for our loved ones. Leaving was hard…staying is going to be even more difficult. Truthfully, the lifestyle we left behind was not necessarily a healthy one and I don’t mean that statement to be reduced to simply our physical health…although we do have a different diet here, I don’t know that overall, it’s healthier…we miss having salads and veggies and many of the fruits we loved. But, it has been nice not to hear Wal-Mart whispering in my ear to come spend money on things we didn’t need. Or to worry about whether my hair looks good or not…it doesn’t – the humidity is not my friend. We don’t look at what someone else has and wish we had “it” too…the majority of the people around us don’t have anything either.

But we do miss being “loved on” and giving it back…hugs and kisses from and to our grandkids, great conversations and time spent with our daughters and son-in-law, spending time with Jim’s folks…those are the times we miss. We miss our church family – the genuine sharing and caring that occurs there. We miss worshipping in our home church – we miss the teaching and we miss our Sunday school classes. We miss not being there for important moments in people’s lives; we have missed Jeremiah rolling over, friends who have had surgery, are battling cancer, are facing life-changing issues, have experienced losses and those that have had celebrations, weddings, graduations and such – and we are here. We cry with them, rejoice with them and pray for them but it’s all been at a distance and there are times that our arms ache to embrace them and our hearts hurt that we can’t. Our ears want to hear the news firsthand, our eyes want to see these things for themselves and our voices long to speak directly to those we care about…but that’s not possible.

So, those are the things that create the void we sometimes experience here…but we’re thankful we have Skype and the internet and we’ll just keep trying to outsmart that enemy of the airwaves and remember that we wouldn't know gain without loss nor pleasure without pain.

Q: Are you happy there?

A: That’s a loaded question. Not always…and right now, probably the truthful answer would have to be most of the time, no. It’s too new, we’re too alien and home is too far away. But are we joyful? Absolutely. God brought us here and it’s really not a matter of whether we’re happy or not…that’s circumstantial at best. But we’re trying very hard to be obedient and there’s a joy and a peace in that I can’t even describe. Would we have done anything differently? Perhaps one or two things but choosing not to come here would not even be part of the equation.

Q: Are you ever afraid?

A: Sometimes. There’s a peculiar thing that happens when you suddenly become a minority in an unfamiliar environment…and one that doesn’t speak the language, to boot. With it comes a great sense of being extremely small and vulnerable but that’s also when we tend to see God more clearly in our circumstances. I have to say it's also given me a new appreciation for those who are immigrants in our own country...setting aside the legality issue for a moment. I think my eyes might now see them through a little bit softer lens than in the past...you know, it's that "walk a mile in my shoes" theory coming in to play.

In truth, Managua is no more dangerous than any other city of the same size and probably less in some instances. What I am most afraid of is not hearing God…or maybe, more to the point, not being obedient to what I know He is calling me to do at any particular moment. That is not location specific – that is submission specific.

Q: What have you seen that bothers you the most?

A: That one’s easy…the poverty. It sometimes keeps me awake at night. Seeing it in a concentrated area for a short period of time on a mission trip impacted me. Seeing it every day, the results of it, how people react to it and the sense of hopelessness has changed my life forever. Just today, after Margarita left, I discovered she had fished out of the trash some molded rolls I had thrown away (didn't refrigerate them and I should have). I stood in the kitchen and just looked out the window wondering why she would do such a thing. We pay her well and with the other cleaning job she has, I know she shouldn't have to resort to such a thing. And then it hit me. She's known what it's like to not have enough food and she's going to do everything she can to see that doesn't occur in her house again. Perhaps she took them home to feed to her pig - I hope so. I know she had saved for a long time to have a pig. I would hate to think that my garbage would be part of someone else's dinner who wasn't walking on 4 feet.

I wonder sometimes why God waited until this time in my life to bring me to such a place…the answer is really quite ugly. I was too self-absorbed and too myopic to have been brought here any sooner. I don’t know why God has us here… what program we’re supposed to establish or project we’re to initiate. I do know that we can’t change the politics, the effects the natural disasters have had on this country or the lives of the millions who struggle from day to day. I know that we're starting way late in the game and with so many handicaps, we shouldn't even be playing. But God must see it differently.

He has told us we can touch one person and we can share with them the hope of Jesus Christ…and because He cares for them, we do too, and we can also share beans and rice along with a tender touch and a warm smile...and I guess, moldy old rolls from the trash. I won’t debate that there are poorer places in the world – I know there are. And I won’t argue that there are so many who just want a handout…I have seen that firsthand both here and in America. I don't think that's a regional distinction, I think that's a character distinction. But I will say that poverty is what bothers me most here – physical and spiritual. We may not be able to do much but we better do what we can…I believe that’s what God expects from each of us.

Well, hopefully that answers some of the most common questions. We love hearing from you. God uses each one of you every time you write us, did you know that? Your words of encouragement, your stories about what's going on in your lives, the pictures of your beautiful flowers that you share with us...those are sweet and tasty pieces of home and we eat up each one of them with an appetite I never knew dreamt we would have. So don't hesitate to keep feeding the ol' folks in Managua...and Chiang Mai...and Mali...and Guadalajara and anywhere else there are people who have left their families and friends in answer to God's call of "Who will go?" They just might be hungry for the very thing you have to offer.

High tech assembly line...

Last Saturday, after we finished working at the medical clinic, we were hot and tired and Roger and Rhonda treated us to pizza at a local pizza place in Jinotepe. Over some pretty great pizza (or it seemed to be great at that moment), we were asked if we were up to helping them for about "15 minutes" to assemble school bags they were going to distribute this week among the 5 schools in the same rural area in which the clinic is held.

These bags were color coded - the blue bags held 2 small notebooks, a pencil, a pencil top eraser and a pencil sharpener...these were for the younger children. The yellow bags held 2 large notebooks - one regular ruled and one quad ruled, a pencil, 3 pens (black, red & blue), a larger eraser, and a pencil sharpener...the yellow bags will go to the older children.

We had quite an assembly line going with Susanna and Rhonda stuffing notebooks, Jim and I did the other items and Roger tied them and sorted them in to the appropriate boxes. We had a lot of fun and some great fellowship during this time...but it definitely took longer than 15 minutes... we ended up assembling 275 bags. All in all, we had a very productive day and even though Jim, Susanna and I were tired and had an hour's drive still ahead of us, we wouldn't have missed out on that opportunity to help.

There's a new kid in town...

This past Saturday, Jim and I were once again able to help at the monthly medical clinic that is held in a rural area outside of Jinotepe. There were 40 people who were seen in a five hour period...pretty good for this doctor as he tends to spend quite a bit of time with each patient. He's a wonderful man who actually works for Minsa, which is the government-run health organization, and does this clinic on his own time. He had originally offered to do these clinics for free, but in order to keep things straight with the government, the missionaries who sponsor this clinic, pay him 500 cords for approximately a 5 hour day. And for those of you who are interested, that equates to slightly more than $26...exactly what he gets paid by Minsa for a full day's work.

Roger and Rhonda Euceda are the m's who make this clinic happen and they have worked hard in this community for the past year to build the trust necessary to support such an effort. They are involved in working with five schools in the area, helping the students with school supplies, socks, shoes and they even built a new "kitchen" (a covered outdoor area) at one of the schools that had been forced to abandon its lunch program due to the lack of a place to cook over an open fire during the rainy season. The medical clinic has been a natural spinoff from their other efforts and it has been very successful...people receive treatment who normally would not - due to lack of means of transportation into town or to lack of funds. I wrote a little about this in May's newsletter.

Jim and I really enjoy helping with this outreach and we were starting to "settle in" to our roles as pharmacists...don't mention that part to our local pharmacists, please. Usually, the people are very quiet when they come to the clinic and if they speak with one another, it's in a hushed tone...very un-Nica like, in my opinion. But that morning, there was a lot of chatter and hand-waving going on. Finally, thanks to Roger, Rhonda and Susanna, we found out that there was going to be a visitor to the clinic that morning.

Apparently, the government had decided that the clinic was perhaps a bit too successful, so they sent out a Minsa representative on Saturday to have a meeting with those patients who had come to see our doctor. It seems as though the Ministry of Health has come to the conclusion that there is enough need in the community to warrant opening their own clinic which would see patients two days a week. Because this will be a gov't. clinic, there will be no charge for seeing the doctor or for prescriptions.

Now, wouldn't you think that the people would be ecstatic over such news? Instead of a clinic where they sometimes have to sit and wait for hours to see the doctor and then are asked to pay a nominal amount for their prescriptions, they are now going to have an opportunity to go see a doctor 2x a week and at no charge. Wouldn't you expect cheering and rejoicing? Didn't happen. Skepticism would be a far better term to describe the prevalent attitude that morning. It would appear that the community is well-versed with government programs.

From what we were told, Minsa will come in to a community, set up a bare bones clinic (which I thought we had) and then will decide it's not worth the effort or cost to run it and will pull out, leaving the community in the same situation in which they started. They typically put a 3rd year med student in as the diagnosing doctor and are supposed to have a qualified physician alongside, but evidently, that doesn't always happen. They set up these clinics in existing buildings, like schools or vacated World Vision buildings (such as the one our clinic is held in) and so they deal with a makeshift environment as does our doctor. It is said their equipment is old and much of it not working properly...my thought was at least they had equipment. We take an old bathroom scale, a stethoscope, a blood pressure cuff and a thermometer...but it seems to serve its purpose, and somehow, in this setting, close does count.

The rep explained that they have trouble with theft of their equipment and their supplies in these rural communities and was told the crowd (the majority of whom were women and children) that they would be responsible for making sure that no one broke in to the building and stole their supplies. The rep also asked if any of them had a secure place in their homes where they could lock up the medicines. Evidently, the guy didn't bother to look to the left or right of the road he had to travel to get out there...tin, black plastic and salvaged boards are far from secure - even I could have answered that question. But I didn't need to...the crowd was bold in answering and the answer was a unified no. No one wanted to be accountable to the government for what was sure to become missing meds. Who could blame them?

He again stressed that it would be their responsibility to see that the clinic remain untouched by theft. Right...women and children who walk up to an hour to come to that facility are going to be held responsible for its security...only a government representative could come up with a statement like that...no need to share that with our local government representatives, either...or if you do, qualify it with the distinction in governments.

To top it off, it seems that the Minsa-run clinics carry only the most basic of meds...like the most common antibiotics, parasite medicine and sometimes, analgesics. I thought our supplies were limited but evidently not. In addition to those items, we also are stocked with various types of medications, including antibiotics, anti-fungals, eye drops, cough and cold meds, antihistamines, antacids and what we take so much for granted...vitamins. Those are the things these people need. So the way it sounds right now, according to the talk that morning, the Minsa clinic will be short-lived...although the Minsa rep. did talk with Roger about Roger and Rhonda "partnering" with Minsa and supplying them with meds...Roger didn't commit.

After the Minsa rep finished talking to the crowd, they all returned to their seats, inside and out and the frenzied chatter continued. There are so many times I wish I had a video camera...I would have loved to have been able to capture some of the facial expressions we saw that morning...the Nicas are such expressive people! Grimacing, head-shaking, eye-rolling and expressions I don't even know how to describe!

We visited among ourselves and wondered what this would mean in regards to "our" clinic...were we through there? Were we being "run out" in a very politically correct manner? Up to this point, any type of evangelistic outreach has not been approached. And I don't know if it was because there was a chance that might be our last clinic there or if he would have done it otherwise, but I happened to look over to a bench where an older woman was sitting and crying quietly. Roger sat down next to her, took her hands in his, talked with her for awhile and then, placing his hand on her shoulder, he began praying over her. I didn't know what business was going on in that moment, but I knew it was of the Lord and so I silently joined in from the pharmacy area and just prayed that God would work in those few moments. That act of kindness from Roger seemed to bring down any remaining barriers between the residents and the gringos.

Almost without exception, as people would get their prescriptions, they would tell Roger and Rhonda that they didn't want them to quit coming and that they would rather come only once a month and know that they were going to get good care with good medicines than what they anticipate Minsa is going to provide. They shook our hands, thanked us for coming, hugged us, bowed to us, etc. They knew the future of the clinic was in jeopardy and they wanted each of us to know that it was not by their choice. It was such a touching morning.

Roger and Rhonda have been contacted by several other nearby rural communities and asked to do a similar monthly clinic in their areas. They've not been able to do so due to their involvement and commitment to this community along with a lack of additional necessary supplies, so who knows what God has planned for this operation. We just know that we've been requested to keep the first Saturday of each month open to join Roger and Rhonda and go wherever the Lord leads...we're game!

Boer-ed...but not bored!

Wednesday, we went with Susanna to the Boer Market…also known more formally as the Israel Market. It is one of the open air markets that add flavor and color to Managua. Perhaps the most famous or I should say infamous market in all Central America is the Mercado Orientale or the Oriental Market. It is huge and is estimated to be about 500 square blocks in size. (I’m not sure how they determine that as there ARE NO square blocks in Managua!) Anyway, we have been told that without exception, we are not to go there. Apparently, it is overrun with gangs, thieves and muggers and there is always something negative happening there. It has a very large community of brothels and as a result, attracts a different shopper than do the other markets. (There is an older widowed missionary from Australia who has a house right in the middle of the brothel section and she ministers to the women there…I’ve been in touch with her and we are in the process of trying to actually set up a time and place where we can meet with one another). The businesses on the outer perimeter of the Orientale are safer but going deep in to the market is not a wise thing to do…especially for a gringo. Even many of the Nicaraguans refuse to go in to the heart of the Orientale.

The other two markets which we do go shop at are Huembes, which has quite a tourist section in front of the area where the Nicas shop for daily provisions. Jim and I like Huembes…the vendors aren’t quite so aggressive and shopping there has a more familiar look and feel. We actually bought a set of our rockers and two small tables from one of the shops there.

The other market is the Boer…it’s not a tourist area but rather a nuts and bolts kind of place to shop. The vendors are more aggressive, often taking you by the arm to pull you in to their shop. These are actually open air markets but the booths are packed so tightly together that it’s dark inside and the adjoined roofs make one giant roof for the most part. It’s hot, stuffy and it smells…usually a very pungent fish smell. It’s not my favorite place to go, but I have to admit I am always fascinated once we’re inside and shopping. The markets are best described as the city’s versions of Super Wal-Marts. If there’s something you want, you can pretty much find it at one of the markets. They have everything from clothing to plastic ware to fish markets to beauty shops to fruit stands, vegetable stands, paper goods, etc.

Thus the reason for our trip on Wednesday…to get supplies for the team coming later this month who will be going up to Rio Blanco. They are going to be doing some construction work but they also wanted to go visit 12 families in the community and bless them with buckets filled with groceries. We discovered that the place Susanna usually has to go to buy these things in bulk at the cheapest price, which is deep in to the market, had opened a free-standing building on the outskirts of the market. So we went there to get the majority of our groceries. It was really very nice and not at all like the atmosphere inside the market.

The team had wanted to fill the buckets with the same items the leader did in January with a different team. A filled bucket in January cost $20.00, including the bucket. With even fewer items in it this time, the cost of a “filled” bucket came to $25.00…a 25% increase in 6 months with the bucket itself costing 1/5th the total amount. When I told Mandy about that, she wanted to know what people were doing with that kind of inflation…the answer is they are eating 20-25% less now than 6 months ago…there certainly haven’t been any wage increases here.

This new “store” is a bulk store and so things are bought in great quantities and then broken down in to smaller amounts for the consumer. For example, beans, rice, flour, dog food, (dry goods like that)are lined up in 100# bags and a customer will state how many pounds they want of any particular item. Salt comes in packages and oil is measured by a scoop and then poured in to a plastic bag. All the labor is done by hand…there are no pallet jacks, no forklifts. That means the towers of 100# bags have all been hand-stacked. When the counter needs a new bag of whatever, a young man scrambles up to the top of the stack – about 15’ in the air, carries down the bag to a lower level and then bends over with it, placing it on the head of another young man who carries it that way to the counter. It is the most amazing thing to watch this process happen over and over…and it is understandable why the most common health complaints are headaches, neck-aches and backaches. These people work hard…most of them in ways we would never even consider.

It took us almost 2 hours to get all of our purchases…which didn’t amount to that much but everything in Nicaragua takes a long time…even going to the market. The girl who was helping us was very thorough, if not speedy. She would carefully measure out each bag of beans (5# each) and just as carefully, tie the bag shut…after assuring Susanna that she was not using the thin bags but the heavier bags which would not tear. This process was repeated for the rice and sugar – again, 5# each. The salt came in small packages and we bought 3 for each family. We opted to spend a little more and buy bottled oil vs bagged oil as transporting bagged cooking oil for four hours just didn’t seem to be a wise thing to do! We included in the buckets, several soup packets, two cans of sardines (yuk…but those are well liked here and are a good source of protein), an oatmeal drink mix and another drink mix which has vitamin c, ketchup packets – another source for vitamin c, coffee packets, a packet of 4 soap balls…used to wash clothes on a scrub board, two bars of hand soap and 10 packages of matches…remember, most of these people where we’re going, cook over wood fires. We will be adding a couple of rolls of toilet paper to these buckets as well.

The funds that the team sent were not enough to cover the cost of the made-up buckets so we have made up the difference. We know this is their project but if we had purchased only what the team’s money would have bought, the buckets would have been a lot less…and even so, with what we added in, they still have fewer items in them than they did six months ago. These buckets will feed a small family for a week and the non food items can last longer than that…depending on how often they are used.

It was an interesting morning, gathering these things and then putting the buckets together. There was a moment when the reality of what we were doing hit me hard…this wasn’t something to just keep us busy or to let us help with a “project”…this was going to help feed bellies that probably aren’t as full now as they were six months ago…the small amount we contributed will make a difference and I believe it will make a difference in ways we will never know this side of heaven. It really is a humbling experience to come to the hands-on realization we serve the God who fed thousands with five loaves and two fishes…we believe He still does. I am looking forward to sharing with you in a few weeks what God does with those buckets…please be praying for the families who will receive them.

Note: in the pictures above…the long shot of the market makes it look so organized…the shelves are but the way customers are served is chaotic…and very time consuming! The picture of the girl pouring out the bag of rice also shows the buckets of oil stacked right behind her…this is where the bulk oil is scooped out and funneled in to a plastic bag. The other picture shows the items stacked on our dining room table ready to be divided among the 12 buckets

The bully next door - part 2...

Now, if the trash thing weren’t enough to test my man’s good nature and challenge his position as king of the castle, Orlando had to take it up a notch. The other day, I had clothes hanging out on the line and Orlando came and told Jim it was going to rain. He thanked him, came and told me and we went out to get the clothes…and not a moment too soon as it poured buckets of rain just seconds after we got the clothes inside.

Later, Orlando started speaking to Jim and obviously was telling him something he deemed very important…Jim’s response? “Si, gracias, Orlando.” (See part 1 to understand this reply). Orlando wasn’t falling for that ol’ ploy again. He decided he needed to show Jim what he was talking about. He walked under the roof of the veranda and started motioning from the iron bars on the window and door to the support beams of the roof. He made criss-cross motions and I was able to make out a few words of Orlando’s stern instruction to Jim and realized he was telling Jim he needed to make me a clothesline under the roof so that when it rained, which is every day now, that I could still hang my clothes out.

I wasn’t real thrilled with the idea of having a clothesline strung across our veranda but I loved the thought that Orlando was looking out after my best interests. Jim acknowledged that he understood and told Orlando that he would do that the next day. Orlando and I just looked knowingly at each other. There was an unspoken understanding which transcended the language barrier…we both knew that Jim’s answer was simply to placate. But because my job as a wife is to support my husband, I assured Orlando we would go to the “ferraterria” (the hardware store) the next day and get the supplies.

What I find simply amazing in all of this is I can’t communicate any better with Orlando than Jim can, but for whatever reason, we all seem to think I can and so Jim and I thought my answer seemed to satisfy Orlando. Until the next morning, anyway. Orlando spied Jim bright and early (yes, it was another dreaded trash day…again, refer to part 1 for a clearer understanding of this) and asked him when he was going to put up the line for my clothes. Jim told him that afternoon. Orlando rattled off something and went on about his business…raking and fighting off the bad guys. We laughed about his persistence and I jokingly told Jim he was going to be putting up a clothesline that day, like it or not. A little later, we saw Orlando walking down through the trees and brush towards the area where he disappears with our trash instead of taking it up to the corner…we’ve not had the nerve to walk that path…it’s like it leads in to the deep, dark woods of a Frank Peretti novel…so we just assumed he was off on a trash mission of some sort.

Neither one of us thought much more about the morning’s conversation until we happened to see Orlando coming down the steps to our veranda. In his hand was a coiled up roll of new clothesline wire. He had walked to the neighborhood ferraterria and purchased the line for Jim. Obviously, he (a) suspected Jim’s answer of when he would get the line put up as insincere, (b) he knows my husband is a well-intentioned procrastinator or (c) he has decided we really don’t know what we’re doing. If the truth be known, (c) is the correct answer.

Next came the struggle to understand what exactly it was Orlando wanted Jim to do. We knew he wanted the line put up but there was something else he kept saying. He kept repeating the same word and even after trying to find it, to no avail, in the Spanish-English dictionary, I couldn’t figure out what Orlando was saying. I thought he must just be insisting Jim get the line up right then although he wasn’t ready to relinquish possession of it. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to show him that Jim had already put up a line for me in the now-enclosed laundry room so I could hang clothes up in inclement weather and that it was okay if the line didn’t get put up that moment...remember, I wasn’t too excited about having a line put out on the veranda in the first place. As soon as Orlando walked in to our laundry room, he spied the ladder he had seen Jim using when he was repairing the laundry room roof. His face lit up…that was what he was wanting! He just wasn’t saying the word for ladder clearly enough for me to be able to find it in the dictionary!

So, Jim carried the ladder through the house and out on to the veranda. I laughed and told him I thought his morning’s agenda was changing and he would be putting up a clothesline for me whether we wanted it or not. Somehow what we wanted suddenly was taking a back seat to what Orlando thought we needed. Jim agreed and started to set the ladder in place. Orlando would have nothing to do with letting Jim hang the line. Nope, with great authority and purpose, Orlando climbed up that ladder on his 75 year old arthritic, crippled-up legs and proceeded to string my clothesline. Jim stood behind him ready to steady him, if necessary. We both were fearful he might fall off the ladder at any moment. Orlando would direct Jim where to cut the line, where to move the ladder and how firmly to pull on the line to test it out. As for the rest of the work…it was Orlando’s project, through and through. I could tell Jim was uncomfortable with Orlando doing “his” job but somehow we both knew it was important that we let him do this thing.

Every day, he is out doing work someone else directs. He is in the yard, raking, shoveling mud out of the ditch, taking the machete to the overgrown brush, hauling the yard debris away in a huge bag he slings over his shoulders. Don Carlos always has a list of chores for him to do. He spends most of his days alone…or alone in the eyes of the rest of us. He sits out under the mango tree and I often wonder not only who his battles are with but why he’s fighting them. I wonder what goes on his mind and how he’s been treated most of his life. We were told that he was old, that he was slow…even that he was a little crazy. God has told us he is lonely and he wants to feel appreciated. I think in us, he sees the chance to “do” for someone without being told…taking care of the trash, putting up my clothesline. I think that God has put that in each one of us…the need to both care and do for someone else without expectation of return. And it’s in that caring and doing, that we are most like Jesus.

As Orlando would complete each “leg” of the line, I would hang some clothes on it, smile as if it were the best thing ever and thank him profusely. In turn, Orlando would smile from ear to ear and look admiringly at his handiwork. When it was all said and done, I had three new lengths of clothesline strung under the veranda roof, a husband who learned that sometimes the way we can best serve is to let someone else serve us and an eccentric Orlando who hobbled home a little taller that day. The bully next door has truly become our caretaker. And as far as how my veranda looks with clothesline strung all over it…it looks heavenly!

The bully next door...

Everyone has their own concept of what comprises a bully. I think Jim’s definition must include someone who takes something away from you. Now before I go any further I have to issue a disclaimer. Jim has not only given his permission for me to share this with you, he has endorsed it! So, just remember that when you have finished reading this.

Our trash truck is supposed to come three times a week and we yet to have experienced a week where they have made all three pick-ups. Not only do we not know what days they’ll be here, we never know what time they’re coming. This makes trash day interesting. We don’t like taking the trash up on the corner and leaving it to sit for a long time as it won’t be long before we see our garbage blowing all over the neighborhood…after all, it IS gringo trash which automatically means it’s fair game for whoever gets to it first, including the stray dogs, the people who live up the road or the junk man who makes his rounds several times a week. I like it when he comes by…he’s fascinating to watch. He rides a horse drawn cart and has his two daughters walk ahead, rummaging for articles of value…plastic sacks, empty bottles, pieces of metal, intact boxes, etc. … anything that can be sold, recycled or used. The girls set the items aside and wait for him to pick them up. They are suspicious of the new gringos who have moved in to their territory…they love our trash, they avoid us.

But all that being said, trash day is always a day of adventure for Jim. Keeping the trash contained in the bags is only half the problem. The challenge begins long before the trash ever makes it to the corner. Jim gets up early in the morning, gathers our trash as quietly as possible…sound seems to travel exceptionally well in Managua…I don’t understand it. In a low voice, he quietly tells me he is going to take the trash up to the corner. This necessitates opening our wooden front door and our barred outer door…neither of which can be opened quietly. The wooden door has 4 different locks on it (none of which we have added by the way) and the gated door has a slide which is secured with a padlock. The wooden door sticks so opening it creates a loud noise even if he’s able to get all of the locks unlocked with minimal sound. The gated door is just flat noisy to open. If he has made it that far without being detected, he then treads softly down the drive and tries to get our front gate unlocked (a repeat of the gated door) and the chain removed. No matter how quietly he tries to do this, there is invariably noise and it sounds the herald to alert the very one Jim is trying to avoid…Orlando.

I’ve told you about Orlando and his frequent battles with spirits unknown. Jim isn’t trying to avoid him out of fear or apprehension. No, he’s trying to avoid him because Orlando takes our trash away from Jim! He refuses to let Jim take it to the corner to sit with the other neighbor’s trash bags. He will rattle off something, to which Jim always just smiles and says, “Si, gracias, Orlando” (this is our pat answer for anything Orlando says to us as we don’t have a clue most of the time as to what he’s saying…so far, it seems to have fit all circumstances…). Now, I have to stress here, Orlando doesn’t physically threaten Jim for the garbage, nor does he wrestle him to the ground for it…no, he just makes it very clear that Jim is not to handle the trash…he will do it.
I’m not sure I understand the male psyche here…I think it’s really sweet of Orlando, who is 75 years old, to take care of our trash for us…even if he is only wanting first shot at rummaging through it. Whereas Jim seems to have become really possessive over our garbage…or maybe it’s the territorial right to take care of one’s own refuse, I don’t know. What I do know is, my husband thinks there’s a “trash bully” next door and three times a week, he tries to “out-sneak” him, but so far, no luck. Orlando’s hearing is much more finely attuned than are Jim’s skills at sneaking steathily.

I have to admit that I am not very sympathetic to this whole situation…as a matter of fact, I find it pretty funny. Three times a week, I see my husband strategically plan the logistics of getting our trash from our house to the corner. Three times a week, I see him come back dejected…but not defeated. See, there is always the next trash day and in our home, hope springs eternal. He is a man who will rise to the challenge.

So, Jim has a trash bully who lives next door…I have a caretaker who is doing what he thinks is his job and a husband who thinks his territory is being threatened…who needs to watch soap operas when you can live a life like this! Actually what it amounts to is neither Jim nor I have been raised in a culture that has such obvious "class" distinctions and we are not comfortable with how that plays out in day to day life here. I'm not sure if Orlando would be so quick to take the trash if it were Nicaraguans who live in this house but because we are Americans, he would never consider letting Jim carry his own trash to the corner. I have similar experiences with Margarita, our housekeeper...but it's more fun to tell a story on Jim! God continues to expand our senses of humor here in Nicaragua!

The Colors of Darkness...

There are several different topics I want to share with you and because I have pictures I want to include, I am going to break them out in to separate entries. This will help keep the blog “bite” more manageable if broken down in to subject increments instead of one giant blog entry with a scad of pictures attached.

I loved the way these pictures came out and I wanted you to see them. The day we went furniture shopping in the town of Masatepe, we happened upon this group of brightly dressed dancers walking to the little town pavilion where they were going to perform. We quickly turned around and found a place to park right in front of the pavilion. The majority of the crowd had walked there and many had already begun indulging in the local favorite beverage – Tona beer. I wasn’t sure how they would receive my request to take pictures but those who seemed to be in charge of organizing the event were quite pleased that a gringa wanted to take pictures of such a special event for Masatepe. This camera of mine has given me some amazing opportunities…

Evidently, each little town has its own patron saint and a special day, sometimes even a week, in which they honor him/her…unfortunately, we didn’t get the saint’s name. There are parades, festivities, dances and oftentimes, school is dismissed. The people believe that their town’s patron saint watches over them, intercedes with God and is responsible for blessing them.

The dances are the same ones that have been performed for years and years with many of the steps and motions rooted in their native Indian culture…Nicaraguans are a people who are rich in traditions and they cling tightly to them. This type of festivity contributes much to the joy of the casual “gringo” spectator and much to the spiritual darkness of the participants who adhere adamantly to this homage to a patron saint.

I loved the dances and all the facial expressions that accompanied each whirl and twirl. I loved the dancers’ costumes and the faithfulness in passing on the specifics of their traditions. I loved the gracefulness of the women, the pride of the men and the absolute adorableness of the children. I hate that they pray to a dead saint and they don’t know our resurrected Jesus. It was a good reminder of why we’re here. That day, darkness came clothed in vivid colors.

A picture is worth a 1000 raisins...

Well, we’ve been here a month now and I wish I could tell you about each and every moment of our days…but not only is that not feasible, it’s not possible. There aren’t words enough to describe some of the things we’ve seen or experienced this first month. There is so much for us to learn and we can quickly become overwhelmed with that reality…but we can also chalk up a few items in the “Lessons Learned” column. As I reflect on our first month here, I want to share some of those things with you.

One of the first lessons we learned early on, or rather I should say Jim learned, is that “ron con pasas” ice cream is NOT chocolate chip…even if the picture on the carton resembles what chocolate chip ice cream should look like…at least what Jim thought it should look like. No, it’s actually rum with raisins ice cream…made with real rum and at least a 1000 raisins! It has a very strong and distinctive flavor…which does not improve even when doused with chocolate syrup! I think that was Jim’s first lesson in the necessity of learning the language and not relying just on pictures and charades! Grocery shopping is always good entertainment for us.

The other day, Jim and I had to go do an errand and as we were stopped in traffic, I happened to look out my window and saw a man who had only one leg sitting outside his street-side shack. He was cooking over his little open fire and was sitting in his home-made wheelchair. It was a broken plastic chair (like the millions of cheap plastic chairs seen all over the city) that had a frame attached to two bicycle tires. I couldn’t help but be saddened by the condition of this man but also marvel at the ingenuity of his mode of transportation. I learned that my best pictures are the ones I don’t take.

Further down the street, we saw two children playing. Both were barefoot, wearing mismatched clothing, playing in their all-dirt front “yard”. One, who looked to be about 8 or 9 years old was running as fast as he could, pulling behind him, a red crate (like the kind our milk comes to the stores in) with a rope tied on it. Inside the crate, holding on for dear life, was a cute little guy, maybe 3 or 4 years of age. The wide arc the crate made as the older boy turned around made the few skinny chickens in the yard scatter with what looked to be, great annoyance. Wings were flapping and even a few feathers drifted up in to the air. Inside our car, with the windows rolled up and the a/c cranked on high, we couldn’t hear a sound from them but their faces were ecstatic and their laughter was contagious. In the middle of what most would consider abject poverty, I saw two of the richest people I’ve seen to date - for on their faces, I saw joy unspeakable! Did I mention that I’ve learned my best pictures are the ones I don’t take?

Oh, yeah…here’s a good one…I’ve learned that iguanas don’t squeak. Remember I told you we had iguanas living up in our roof? I made that assumption because Susanna has iguanas that live up in her roof so when we first moved in and we heard the noises up above our ceiling, I assumed we, too, had iguanas. Well, the scurrying noises we hear up and down the walls and all along the ceiling are often accompanied with loud squeaking…and no tail dragging. As exotic and tropical as it sounds to have iguanas living in one’s roof, I’ve had to admit, we’re not exotic and tropical. Nope, we’re hosts to rats and bats and who knows what other “squeaky” things may lurk in the space which should be reserved for exotic and tropical iguanas. Naturally, I was alarmed at that realization…I was alone in that. Again, this seems to be fairly common, due to the types of roofs and their construction, and so I’m becoming used to the noisy neighbors “upstairs”. I’ve not gone so far as to have turned in to a “Willard” (anyone old enough to remember that movie?), but I am getting more sleep now than I was.

We’ve learned that in a culture that still seems to hold somewhat to a separation of social and financial classes that it pays great rewards to ignore those divisions. Each morning we greet Orlando, the 75 year old caretaker who spends his days fighting unseen foes (or I should say we can’t see them – at least not yet). About once a week, I try to make sure I have something to share with Orlando, a piece of fruit, a triangle of pika bread or a mango roll. He usually will sit down under our mango tree, on some concrete blocks he has covered with a scrap of rug, eat his bounty and rub his arthritic knee and pained back, and always, brings forth a smile that brightens even the grayest morning. He keeps the fallen palm branches and mango leaves hauled off, he guards my kitchen door from his invisible tormentors and his face lights up when he sees us. I’ve learned those are dividends that beat anything Merrill Lynch pays out.

We’ve learned that a few bags of groceries to a struggling family doesn’t impact what’s on our pantry shelves but it does theirs. We’ve also learned that it doesn’t really matter in the big picture as to whether we might be taken advantage of or not…it does matter that we are obedient to God’s Word. James 2:14-17 says, “What good is it, my brothers, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save him? Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, "Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed," but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.” We have learned we don’t want to risk having “dead faith” in exchange for wise giving. We would much rather let God be the one to judge whether our decisions to minister, to give, to feed were the right ones or not.

Those are just a few of the lessons learned and we have oh, so many more ahead of us. We pray that we are quick learners with thick skins, tender hearts, searching eyes, obedient spirits and with a ready sense of humor…we would hate to miss out on the fun each day brings. There is something to be said about being removed from all that is familiar…it makes one so much more appreciative of the presence of God…it also makes us realize God was the creator of laughter…our holy, majestic, almighty God has to enjoy hearing His children laugh…at the absurdities of life and at themselves…and oftentimes, we are qualifying for both at the same time as we adjust to life here in Nicaragua.