This past week has been a week of changes. Well, actually this past year has been a year of changes but I’ll spare you all that and just hit the highlights of the week. First of all, we changed from our language tutor of several months to going to a formal language school…a necessary change and a very positive one but certainly not easy. I used to think I could be a professional student if given the chance as I love learning. I have found out that does not apply to intensive learning of a foreign language! By Friday, I was hoping I would wake up with a fever.
I grew up in a two story house that had square floor vents. The ones in the living room were the most effective as they were directly above the gas furnace in the basement. The house was built in the early 1900s and the wood floors were plenty squeaky almost 60 years later when I was in grade school. If I didn’t want to go to school (usually because of a people issue, not a subject issue), I would complain of a stomach ache, headache and generally act as though death were camped on my doorstep. My mother was a no-nonsense woman and was obviously not in to her children using theatrics to manipulate their daily agendas. The only acceptable excuses for not attending school were running a fever or throwing up.
One winter, I got up and for whatever reason, did not want to go to school. I tried my usual complaints. No go…not unless I was running a fever or throwing up. I hated regurgitating when it was legitimate and even then, I couldn’t imagine inducing it in myself. Nope. The fever route was going to be a much more pleasant way to avoid having to attend school that day so I went in to their bathroom and got the thermometer out of the medicine cabinet and brought it to Mom.
She probably was suspicious from the get-go about that little bit of helpfulness on my part but stuck it under my tongue anyway, told me to sit still on the couch and then went in to the kitchen to get her morning coffee. It really took several cups of the go-juice for Mom to wake up enough to become sociable and I should have known better than to do what I did next. (That should-have-known-better was my theme song for the majority of my life).
As soon as Mom left the room, I quietly, or so I thought, got up from the couch and went over to the floor furnace vent. Of course, the furnace had been running since it was cold out, and so I promptly stuck the thermometer on the black grate, all the while, peeking around the corner, to see if Mom was headed back my way. I saw her coming and I jumped back on the couch, quickly sticking the thermometer under my tongue, again thinking I was being very stealthy in my moves. ..I guess I had never noticed the squeaky floor thing as a child. I don’t remember the thermometer being particularly warm as I put it under my tongue but I do remember the icy cold stare from my mother after she it back out from under my tongue.
In a voice that rivaled the stare, Mom suggested I go upstairs and get ready for school. I knew better than to argue or plea the case of the reasons I didn’t want to go. When Mom had that look and that tone of voice, survival instinct kicked in and school was definitely the better option so I’m sure I high-tailed it upstairs. Whatever it was I dreaded facing at school probably then paled in comparison to facing the consequences of trying to outsmart that woman. Don’t misunderstand me. Mom wasn’t abusive but neither would she put up with those kinds of shenanigans… not on one cup of coffee, anyway. It wasn’t until years later that we reminisced about that morning and it was funny then. I wonder if God kept His hand on the end of that thermometer to protect me from mercury poisoning and His hand on my “end” to protect me from one angry caffeine-deprived mama! I know He made me go to school.
And so, last Friday, once again, God made me go to school. It’s not the actual going to school…it’s the not grasping the grammar, the pronunciation, the translation and the vocabulary as quickly as I would like. When I was growing up and in school, I put more pressure on myself than anyone else. I guess that part hasn’t changed. I wish I could just go to sleep and wake up speaking fluent Spanish. But that will probably occur only on the day I wake up thin, young and with thick, luxuriant hair…in other words…nunca. Never. Thank goodness, we’re in Nicaragua where floor furnaces aren’t necessary. I might be tempted to try the ol’ running-a-fever thing again!
The other change? We went to a new church this morning. We’ve been attending a Spanish speaking church about a 25 minute drive from here. And although we enjoy seeing some of the people we have met there, we never feel like we’ve really been to church. I have told some of you about this church and that it is very Latino in every aspect. The praise and worship time is fun for us, as observers, but since we don’t speak the language yet, we don’t really know what the words are saying. And I have to confess that rarely do I worship there, as right now, I find I’m often distracted by the activity going on around me. If there are enough American groups visiting, there is usually a translator for the sermon, but it is difficult, at least for me, to become really immersed in a sermon that is being preached in a stop and go method. We knew we needed to make a change but as odd as it sounds, we were comfortable at Verbo. We knew what to expect and even though we didn’t know what it was when it was delivered, we knew the procedure and we knew the faces.
So, after several weeks of having the “should we/shouldn’t we” debate, we decided we would try the International Christian Fellowship church here in Managua. It is an English speaking church with an American pastor who has served in various other Spanish speaking countries and here in Nicaragua the last 8 years. There was a sense of apprehension of once again, starting over. Of going to a new church, with all new faces and a new format. Of being the “new people” in yet another venue. The thought flitted across my mind this morning that h-m-m-m…did my forehead feel a bit warm? Well, yeah! It’s Nicaragua…my whole body felt a bit warm!
Services are held in a covered outdoor area behind the administration building of the Nicaragua Christian Academy and were to begin at 8:00 a.m. We arrived at 7:50. There were only a couple of cars in the parking lot and no people to be seen. We waited a few minutes and Jim got out of the car to go ask the security guard what time church was to start. He could hear music coming from behind the Admin building and so we walked around there. Lots of chairs – no people with the exception of the praise team practicing. At least we knew we were in the right place. We figured we must have read the time wrong and were early so we walked back to the front of the building, found a bench and decided to just sit and enjoy the coolest part of the coming day.
We began talking about yesterday’s situation with the policeman and discussed what we would do if there was a “next time”. God was good to give us that time of solitude in such a peaceful setting. We felt His mercy in the gentle breeze and the assurance of His presence in one another’s words. We both were better after our discussion and having a plan of action in place. God wants authenticity from us in our innermost beings and in our outermost actions. Learning the language apparently isn’t the only painful process we’re going through here.
Not long after we finished the heart of our discussion, the cars started pulling in to the lot. A man saw us sitting on the bench and came up and introduced himself. He sounded Australian and told us that church was indeed scheduled to start at 8:00 but that most folks seem to have gravitated towards Nica time and that meant more like 8:30. Even the pastor was late in coming! A change from Cassville and even a change from Verbo…the Nica church starts on time…the International church starts whenever it seems “right”.
But, from the very first song, Mighty To Save, we knew once again, this change was the right one. We missed the hugs this morning from our Nica kids but it was like taking a long cool drink in this hot and thirsty land, to hear God’s words spoken in a tongue we recognized and understood. The praise and worship time was a cross between the reserved atmosphere of a more formal service and of a Sunday night service at FBC, but there was no doubt that God was ministering this morning to two of his broken-hearted children through the music and the sermon. Even the birds seemed to sing along and the geckos chirped in their own amens. We were blessed in just “being” this morning…in being a child of God, in being with people who we could understand without struggle, in being familiar with the praise and worship songs and in being fed to satisfy a hunger that had gone on for too long. We praise you God and we thank you for guiding us through these changes and so many others, in our lives, and for being the God who does not change but remains the same, yesterday, today and forever.
God grant me the serenity to accept the people I cannot change, the courage to change the one I can, and the wisdom to know it's me. ~Author Unknown
1 comment:
God is good. We gives us
a reprieve from our cares
and frustrations just when we need it most. Dick and I thank Him for leading you
to this worship service. W
Post a Comment