Yesterday, while we were gone to church and the grocery store, our house was broken into and we were robbed. We had both of our computers taken, all of the equipment that goes with them, our Ipod and speakers, all my jewelry and a few other assorted things that make no sense to steal if you're an American but were apparently attractive items to a Nicaraguan "ladron" (robber)...such as my brand new packages of deodorant, my alarm clock and my new sunglasses I brought back from the States.
There is a terrible sense of invasion and violation in dealing with such a situation. I'm not sure how others feel when they experience this kind of thing but I am discovering stages - some pleasant, others not so pleasant. Another learning process for us...we've never had our home broken in to before. This is new territory for us.
I am doing this blog on Susanna's computer as we are staying nights at her house until the landlord gets our backdoor secured. We found out this afternoon that won't happen until Thursday at the earliest. So, for now, Susanna is loaning us her night guard, our gardener is working extra day hours and we are spending our time (and spinning our wheels!) dealing with the local police who have no interest whatsoever in helping victimized, what they see as "wealthy", gringos. It is a frustrating process to say the least. And I might share our experience with them in a future blog but not tonight.
Tonight I am better than last night. Last night I couldn't sleep, even though I knew we were safely tucked in to Susanna's bed. I laid in bed, fighting lots of emotions - bobbing and weaving trying to avoid the sucker punches that this kind of thing can so easily bring with it...fear, anger, bitterness, shock. We lost our main source of communication. I lost years of memoriabilia in my jewelry bag. Every piece of jewelry Jim has ever given me save my wedding ring is gone. A sapphire ring and opal earrings that were gifts from my now-deceased mother are gone. A widow's mite necklace that Mandy had given me is gone. My ring from Eilat, Israel, gone. Things I can't go to the store and replace.
Last night, as I lay in bed, I felt empty and sick inside. I cried quietly, not wanting to wake Jim. He wasn't asleep, either. We told each other it was just stuff and it would be okay. Why didn't it feel that way? I hated the way I felt. I asked God to help me, to take my hand and guide me to a place where I would feel differently. And He responded by asking me what had been good about the day? I laid there and instead of trying to count sheep to take me to a place of rest, the Shepherd told me to count my blessings...and so I began making a mental list. Tonight, it gets more "body".
We had the most amazing sunrise and the sky was absolutely beautiful * We were invited to and attended the baptism of six young Nicaraguans who have come to know Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior * The baptism took place in a scenic rural location north of Managua and we were surronded by mountains, volcanoes and a beautiful portion of the lake...it was all so breathtakingly beautiful * We were made to feel so welcome by about 50 warm and wonderful Nicaraguan brothers and sisters in Christ * Jim and I had a special time of sharing and reflecting during our lunch * While at the grocery store, there was the cutest little boy about two years old, totally oblivious to the jam packed aisle of shoppers, who was methodically taking all the cleaning products off the bottom shelf while his dad sat on the floor next to him, ready to put them back when he was done...the young father's attention and obvious adoration for his son was heart warming and when our eyes met, we exchanged smiles...he had a nice smile * We had three wonderful friends on our doorstep within 30 minutes of discovering the break-in * I discovered I could use my cell phone to call Mandy and I had enough minutes on it to take care of the immediate business at hand to protect us finanacially as much as possible and to hear a loving and concerned voice at a time I really needed to do so * We weren't at home during the break-in which we view as God's hand of protection on us * We had someone who was willing to stay outside our house all night long to make sure it was protected from any further intrusions * Freddy, our gardener, agreed to come early the next morning and stay as late as we needed him * We had friends here offer to help us by letting us use their credit card if necessary * Other friends offered us the use of their laptop if we had to have one for any emergency contacts * Susanna stepped in as interpreter with the authorities, chauffer, made calls, brought food, gave hugs, helped advise, made arrangements, provided shelter and emotional support (and has not left us to handle one thing on our own) * Not long after arriving at Susanna's to stay the night, Hector, a Nicaraguan young man with whom we're close, arrived to give us counsel and offer comfort * Our funds were still intact * Our remaining personal property was not destroyed nor vandalized * Miguel had given me two new flowers a few days before and they were blooming beautifully * The pictures of the grandkids were still safe and sound and so are we...and the list goes on and on.
Jim and I are not happy about what has happened and we all know it could have been worse - whether it occurred here or in the States, but what we are, is committed - to God and to the path He has put before us. It's true, we were robbed yesterday of some precious items but my goodness, we had a good day. I think I'll sleep better tonight.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Monday, September 22, 2008
I think I have a fever...
What a beautiful morning! Pixie woke us up at 5:30 and the temps were so much cooler this morning due to last night’s rains, which continued through most of the night. The down side is it will make for a really steamy day later on. Plus, we seem to be without water again. Since it was off when we got up, I thought it would come on by now, but we’re still without. Thankfully, we keep bottled water on hand for drinking so we’re able to take spit baths (do they even call them that anymore???) and brush our teeth. We also keep buckets filled with water so that we can make sure the bathrooms can function.
We’re back on a regimented schedule this week as we return to school this afternoon. As I’m typing this, Jim is once again reviewing prepositions and verbs…subjects he didn’t like when he had to study them in a language he grew up speaking! We both have butterflies flitting around in our tummies this morning…I tried the fever routine with Jim…he’s as tough as my mom once was! Guess we’re going to be going to school this afternoon!
The sky must be reflecting my apprehensions because within just a couple of minutes, we have gone from a beautiful sunny morning to a cloudy, overcast sky. That’s one of the things I find so remarkable here…the weather changes so quickly. We can experience absolute stillness to almost gale force winds, sunshine to skies so dark we need the lights on, hot tropical sun beating down to monsoon like rains and all in a day’s time. The weather roulette wheel is always spinning here and it makes for an interesting day when out and about. Regardless, heat and humidity seem to be the constant…and the positive in that? All my lipsticks are now very creamy.
Have a good day. Please join us in prayer that our studying on our own the last two weeks will have been effective as we return to the linguistic torture rack called language school.
We’re back on a regimented schedule this week as we return to school this afternoon. As I’m typing this, Jim is once again reviewing prepositions and verbs…subjects he didn’t like when he had to study them in a language he grew up speaking! We both have butterflies flitting around in our tummies this morning…I tried the fever routine with Jim…he’s as tough as my mom once was! Guess we’re going to be going to school this afternoon!
The sky must be reflecting my apprehensions because within just a couple of minutes, we have gone from a beautiful sunny morning to a cloudy, overcast sky. That’s one of the things I find so remarkable here…the weather changes so quickly. We can experience absolute stillness to almost gale force winds, sunshine to skies so dark we need the lights on, hot tropical sun beating down to monsoon like rains and all in a day’s time. The weather roulette wheel is always spinning here and it makes for an interesting day when out and about. Regardless, heat and humidity seem to be the constant…and the positive in that? All my lipsticks are now very creamy.
Have a good day. Please join us in prayer that our studying on our own the last two weeks will have been effective as we return to the linguistic torture rack called language school.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Blessed be the name...
It’s a rainy afternoon here…actually, that’s not an apt description…it’s pouring! I know we’re in the rainy season but, my goodness, that terminology doesn’t seem to be close to adequate for some of the downpours we’ve experienced the last couple of weeks. Of course, it’s nothing like Texas when Ike blew through, but it is pretty soggy.
I think I’ve mentioned before that our roof leaks…enough so that when we have a pretty good rain, we have to put our bowls out to catch the steady stream of water. I’m not sure wh
y we always do this…we have tile floors, but somehow, I just can’t let the water sit on the floor. So, when we first start seeing the puddles appear, we go through the routine of placing the various colored bowls throughout the house. They add an air of festivity...or that's what I've been telling myself. Today’s surprise…three new leaks! We now can add to our previous eight, one in our bathroom, one in the pantry and one in the hallway leading to the laundry room. I’ve run out of colorful bowls! The sense of festivity seems to be waning…
Our home church is celebrating their last day of Global Impact Celebration…there have been missionaries from all over the world converging on Cassville, MO the last few days. We are so excited for everyone there…GIC has always been one of our favorite times. We have been praying for the M”s and for FBC and we know that the blessings have been abounding! God always uses this time in such an amazing way to remind His children of His love for those who have yet to come to know Him.
GIC has a special place in our hearts…we love the stories of how God’s working all over the world and in some of the most unexpected places and ways, but there’s another reason we hold that event near and dear to our hearts. One of the first GICs we had some years back was instrumental in where we are today. I remember telling Jim that I didn’t care where we went for a “short term” mission trip but I didn’t want to go somewhere where they spoke Spanish! That reminds me of what Nancy said about going to Africa!!! I think there’s a lesson there in exercising caution in what we say we will or won’t do. So where am I? Certainly not on a short term mission trip…and most certainly sitting in the heart of Spanish-speaking Latin America! I think back to my arrogance and naivety in trying to tell God how and where I would serve Him…thankfully, He is a patient God and full of mercy!
I was reminded of that this morning on our way home from church. We have been attending the International Church here in Managua and have thoroughly enjoyed hearing sermons in English. During the time of greeting and fellowship, we were visiting with a gentleman and his wife who have been serving in Costa Rica and just recently moved here to do church planting. We had met him last week and he had told us he was going to leave the service a bit early so he could go attend a church he had heard about…Verbo, a Spanish speaking church. We told him we had been attending Verbo up until recently and he asked us how we liked it. We told him it was a great church but right now, we needed to hear God’s Word in an understandable language.
When we saw him this morning, we asked him what he thought of the services last week at Verbo. He proceeded to tell us that he couldn’t get past the loud music. If you remember, I have talked about that before…it does have kind of a Salsa feel to it and it certainly is loud...but, we are in Nicaragua. So, we could understand how that could be a bit different if someone wasn’t used to it. But his next comments made me feel a bit queasy in my core. He said that no one could worship to that and that when music was so loud that you couldn’t hear the people singing, then it was just a performance. He then said that this was definitely an area that needed to be transformed in the churches of Nicaragua. Thankfully, it was at that moment that the music began for our next worship song and we all had to return to our seats. The song was “Blessed Be Your Name”…obviously, familiar and lacking any accompanying bongos or saxophones…I’m sure it was acceptable to everyone there.
That conversation bothered me a lot. During the time of offering, I closed my eyes and asked God to help me understand why I was so uneasy about what had transpired. And what He put before me was a picture of David, leaping and dancing before the Lord, unabashedly and unashamedly worshiping with his whole body, from head to toe, giving praise to His glorious God. David’s wife, Michal, the daughter of Saul, who had seen his jubilant display, chastised him for such undignified behavior which she saw as unbecoming for a king. God dealt with Michal. (2 Samuel 6:16-23)
Every blessing you pour out,
I turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say...
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your glorious name
Through that brief mental image, God spoke to me that we need to be careful in being so quick to judge that which is different. That is a daily lesson for us here in Nicaragua. Life here is different, but that does not necessarily equate to wrong. Because someone chooses to worship differently than the manner in which we are accustomed, does not mean they are wrong or insincere. What it does mean is our own focus is wrong. We are incapable of judging the true motives of a person’s heart. Only God can do that.
If we were honest with ourselves, who of us at some point hasn’t practiced repeatedly, a song, a speech, a drama reading, perhaps, even a prayer, so that we wouldn’t “blow it” in front of our congregation, Sunday school class or Bible study group? Whether it was for praise or in hopes we wouldn’t be criticized, weren’t we also performing in one way or another? Shouldn’t instead, our priorities have been for our audience of One? I read something the other day that I thought to be pretty profound. Actually I think it was on a t-shirt or something…always a great place to find good theology. It said, “Never look down on anyone. God is the only one who sits high enough to do that!”
On the way home from church, Jim and I were discussing the gentleman and his assessment of Verbo. We agreed that it was a sad statement on so many different levels. I told Jim that I believe God is probably much more displeased with the critical attitudes of His children towards one another than with the decibel count or style of music being offered up to Him in praise and worship. The words were no sooner out of my mouth than God nudged my conscience and reminded me I needed to be faithful in applying that truth in all aspects of my own walk with Him. Wow…how did that happen??? We were talking about the guy at church…when did the focus shift to me??? It’s so easy to get off track, isn’t it?
I think I’ve mentioned before that our roof leaks…enough so that when we have a pretty good rain, we have to put our bowls out to catch the steady stream of water. I’m not sure wh
y we always do this…we have tile floors, but somehow, I just can’t let the water sit on the floor. So, when we first start seeing the puddles appear, we go through the routine of placing the various colored bowls throughout the house. They add an air of festivity...or that's what I've been telling myself. Today’s surprise…three new leaks! We now can add to our previous eight, one in our bathroom, one in the pantry and one in the hallway leading to the laundry room. I’ve run out of colorful bowls! The sense of festivity seems to be waning…Our home church is celebrating their last day of Global Impact Celebration…there have been missionaries from all over the world converging on Cassville, MO the last few days. We are so excited for everyone there…GIC has always been one of our favorite times. We have been praying for the M”s and for FBC and we know that the blessings have been abounding! God always uses this time in such an amazing way to remind His children of His love for those who have yet to come to know Him.
GIC has a special place in our hearts…we love the stories of how God’s working all over the world and in some of the most unexpected places and ways, but there’s another reason we hold that event near and dear to our hearts. One of the first GICs we had some years back was instrumental in where we are today. I remember telling Jim that I didn’t care where we went for a “short term” mission trip but I didn’t want to go somewhere where they spoke Spanish! That reminds me of what Nancy said about going to Africa!!! I think there’s a lesson there in exercising caution in what we say we will or won’t do. So where am I? Certainly not on a short term mission trip…and most certainly sitting in the heart of Spanish-speaking Latin America! I think back to my arrogance and naivety in trying to tell God how and where I would serve Him…thankfully, He is a patient God and full of mercy!
I was reminded of that this morning on our way home from church. We have been attending the International Church here in Managua and have thoroughly enjoyed hearing sermons in English. During the time of greeting and fellowship, we were visiting with a gentleman and his wife who have been serving in Costa Rica and just recently moved here to do church planting. We had met him last week and he had told us he was going to leave the service a bit early so he could go attend a church he had heard about…Verbo, a Spanish speaking church. We told him we had been attending Verbo up until recently and he asked us how we liked it. We told him it was a great church but right now, we needed to hear God’s Word in an understandable language.
When we saw him this morning, we asked him what he thought of the services last week at Verbo. He proceeded to tell us that he couldn’t get past the loud music. If you remember, I have talked about that before…it does have kind of a Salsa feel to it and it certainly is loud...but, we are in Nicaragua. So, we could understand how that could be a bit different if someone wasn’t used to it. But his next comments made me feel a bit queasy in my core. He said that no one could worship to that and that when music was so loud that you couldn’t hear the people singing, then it was just a performance. He then said that this was definitely an area that needed to be transformed in the churches of Nicaragua. Thankfully, it was at that moment that the music began for our next worship song and we all had to return to our seats. The song was “Blessed Be Your Name”…obviously, familiar and lacking any accompanying bongos or saxophones…I’m sure it was acceptable to everyone there.
That conversation bothered me a lot. During the time of offering, I closed my eyes and asked God to help me understand why I was so uneasy about what had transpired. And what He put before me was a picture of David, leaping and dancing before the Lord, unabashedly and unashamedly worshiping with his whole body, from head to toe, giving praise to His glorious God. David’s wife, Michal, the daughter of Saul, who had seen his jubilant display, chastised him for such undignified behavior which she saw as unbecoming for a king. God dealt with Michal. (2 Samuel 6:16-23)
Every blessing you pour out,
I turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say...
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be your glorious name
Through that brief mental image, God spoke to me that we need to be careful in being so quick to judge that which is different. That is a daily lesson for us here in Nicaragua. Life here is different, but that does not necessarily equate to wrong. Because someone chooses to worship differently than the manner in which we are accustomed, does not mean they are wrong or insincere. What it does mean is our own focus is wrong. We are incapable of judging the true motives of a person’s heart. Only God can do that.
If we were honest with ourselves, who of us at some point hasn’t practiced repeatedly, a song, a speech, a drama reading, perhaps, even a prayer, so that we wouldn’t “blow it” in front of our congregation, Sunday school class or Bible study group? Whether it was for praise or in hopes we wouldn’t be criticized, weren’t we also performing in one way or another? Shouldn’t instead, our priorities have been for our audience of One? I read something the other day that I thought to be pretty profound. Actually I think it was on a t-shirt or something…always a great place to find good theology. It said, “Never look down on anyone. God is the only one who sits high enough to do that!”
On the way home from church, Jim and I were discussing the gentleman and his assessment of Verbo. We agreed that it was a sad statement on so many different levels. I told Jim that I believe God is probably much more displeased with the critical attitudes of His children towards one another than with the decibel count or style of music being offered up to Him in praise and worship. The words were no sooner out of my mouth than God nudged my conscience and reminded me I needed to be faithful in applying that truth in all aspects of my own walk with Him. Wow…how did that happen??? We were talking about the guy at church…when did the focus shift to me??? It’s so easy to get off track, isn’t it?
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
September 17th...
Today is September 17th. Two years ago, September 17th was on a Sunday. How do I remember that? That was the day I received the phone call telling me my mom died. I remember many details of that day as though they were frozen in time and engraved on the front of my memory bank. It was an unexpected death with an unexpected aftermath. My plans that day had not included grieving the sudden loss of my mother. My plans were to pack for our second mission trip to Nicaragua, scheduled to leave the following morning.
I thought about writing about that day. I don’t want to do that…I’ve done that before in other venues. I thought about expressing the pain I felt that day and the emptiness I feel today. I miss my mom more than I can tell you but there’s not much point in writing about that either. Pain is so personal, isn’t it? No matter how much we try to describe it, our words are never adequate and no matter how much someone wants to understand, they can’t. Their pain isn’t ours and ours isn’t theirs.
My heartache today? I miss my mom’s physical presence. I miss her voice and I miss her laugh. She had a great sense of humor and we both seemed to love the silliness of the absurd. I miss her words of encouragement and I miss her counsel, although I didn’t always choose to follow it. I miss her boldness in standing up for the underdog in life. I miss her generosity with others and I miss her intellect. I miss her belief in me that I could do anything…don’t all moms believe that for their children? But what I miss most of all is the assurance I will see her again someday.
I don’t know if Mom ever accepted Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior, as the living Master of her life. I’m not talking about church attendance or membership. Those are not the same thing as following the Lord Jesus. I witnessed to my mom many times. So did Jim. We shared what Jesus had done in us and in our lives. She saw the difference and acknowledged that there were changes in us she couldn’t explain or understand. She even verbalized she wished she had the same peace within which we have. She was always polite and would hear us out. But she was a strong, willful woman. And sadly, tragically, I think she was strong and willful against God. And the reality of what that means is as painful to me today as was the initial loss of her two years ago.
So, what do I do with this pain? This overwhelming sadness? I do the only thing I know to do. I tell the truth about Jesus and I beg. I beg those of you who may not know Jesus to meet Him. I don’t mean a brief, impersonal, surface exploration of the veracity of His existence. I don’t mean joining a church or toting a Bible around. I don’t mean donning the cloak of religion in hopes of that being good enough to satisfy the Almighty. I mean a gut-honest, personal and intimate encounter with the One True Living God. I promise if you allow that to happen, you will be changed and you will have no doubts about Jesus and Who He is and what His plan is for your life. That encounter will turn in to an eternal relationship. Those people you care about, those friends and family, the ones who already have a personal relationship with the Lord, won’t have to wonder about where you will spend eternity after you’ve drawn your last breath on this earth. And although they will miss your presence here on earth, they will have an assurance I don’t have today in regards to my mother and that is that you will see one another again someday.
I miss my mom.
I thought about writing about that day. I don’t want to do that…I’ve done that before in other venues. I thought about expressing the pain I felt that day and the emptiness I feel today. I miss my mom more than I can tell you but there’s not much point in writing about that either. Pain is so personal, isn’t it? No matter how much we try to describe it, our words are never adequate and no matter how much someone wants to understand, they can’t. Their pain isn’t ours and ours isn’t theirs.
My heartache today? I miss my mom’s physical presence. I miss her voice and I miss her laugh. She had a great sense of humor and we both seemed to love the silliness of the absurd. I miss her words of encouragement and I miss her counsel, although I didn’t always choose to follow it. I miss her boldness in standing up for the underdog in life. I miss her generosity with others and I miss her intellect. I miss her belief in me that I could do anything…don’t all moms believe that for their children? But what I miss most of all is the assurance I will see her again someday.
I don’t know if Mom ever accepted Jesus Christ as her Lord and Savior, as the living Master of her life. I’m not talking about church attendance or membership. Those are not the same thing as following the Lord Jesus. I witnessed to my mom many times. So did Jim. We shared what Jesus had done in us and in our lives. She saw the difference and acknowledged that there were changes in us she couldn’t explain or understand. She even verbalized she wished she had the same peace within which we have. She was always polite and would hear us out. But she was a strong, willful woman. And sadly, tragically, I think she was strong and willful against God. And the reality of what that means is as painful to me today as was the initial loss of her two years ago.
So, what do I do with this pain? This overwhelming sadness? I do the only thing I know to do. I tell the truth about Jesus and I beg. I beg those of you who may not know Jesus to meet Him. I don’t mean a brief, impersonal, surface exploration of the veracity of His existence. I don’t mean joining a church or toting a Bible around. I don’t mean donning the cloak of religion in hopes of that being good enough to satisfy the Almighty. I mean a gut-honest, personal and intimate encounter with the One True Living God. I promise if you allow that to happen, you will be changed and you will have no doubts about Jesus and Who He is and what His plan is for your life. That encounter will turn in to an eternal relationship. Those people you care about, those friends and family, the ones who already have a personal relationship with the Lord, won’t have to wonder about where you will spend eternity after you’ve drawn your last breath on this earth. And although they will miss your presence here on earth, they will have an assurance I don’t have today in regards to my mother and that is that you will see one another again someday.
I miss my mom.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Do-over...
I know what I’m about to say won’t come as a shock to anyone who knows Jesus Christ, as their Lord and Savior, but we were reminded today that we serve the God of second chances. Do you remember a few weeks back when I told you we were stopped and very intimidated by a policeman here? And what a hard time we were having because we felt like we had not handled the situation as we should have?
The following week, we were stopped again just down the road from our house by a cadet who was training. It happened in front of the Police Academy and they frequently do routine stops there in order to teach the cadets the “proper” way to handle traffic violations. We knew why we were being stopped then and didn’t think much about it as there were lots of cars being stopped by the group of cadets…although the heart rate always goes up a bit when being pulled over, whether here or in the U.S. Our paperwork was all in order so after the supervisor gave our cadet the okay, we were back in traffic and on our way home.
Today, we had our third experience. Today continues to be a holiday…carrying over from yesterday which was Nicaragua’s Independence Day. Many of the businesses are closed today and the traffic is very light. We were supposed to meet Miguel for his lesson this morning but when we arrived at the church, it was locked up tight and no sign of Miguel. We are hoping he stayed home due to the holiday and nothing more than that to keep him from work.
After an unsuccessful trip to Metro Centro to try to find some wide clear tape (to tape some broken glass in one of our patio door sidelights) we decided to stop and eat lunch at Pizza Hut (they have a special where we both can eat lunch for $8) before heading on to Sinsa in hopes of finding our tape there. It has been almost a month since our last visit to Pizza Hut. It was that day that we were stopped by the corrupt cop…right after we had eaten lunch at Pizza Hut and made a trip to Sinsa.
That thought crossed my mind as we were leaving the restaurant because there was a cop who was trying to sort out the events of a fender bender that had occurred there in the parking lot which sits on a corner. Jim had his left turn signal on as he waited for the traffic to pass and then carefully turned left in to the correct lane that would go straight through the light. We had a red light and as we sat there, we noticed that there were two police officers standing off to the side of the road a ways down on the other side of the intersection. We even said something to each other about it. Jim is especially cautious when driving now after our previous experience.
It was at that moment that I remembered I hadn’t prayed as we were leaving the house this morning. It’s something I do every time we get in the car. I always pray out loud for us…for safe travel and protection from evil and for sensitivity to where God is working around us. So, as we sat at the light, I prayed out loud and because I had a “funny feeling” about the police ahead, I also prayed that God would speak to the hearts of those people in power who might be pulled towards corruption and that He would protect us from such people.
The light turned green and we began driving. I finished praying just as we got through the intersection and Jim had no more than thanked me for praying when we saw the two police officers, a man and a woman, move out to the edge of the lane of traffic and look right at us. It was no surprise when they then motioned for us to pull over to the edge of the road. I remember saying out loud, “Thank you, Lord,” and then asking Him for wisdom for us.
Right now, before I go any further, I want to say this is a perfect example of the Holy Spirit interceding. In the natural realm, I can’t imagine I would ever “naturally” thank the Lord for being pulled over by a cop in Managua. But thankfully, I believe the Spirit had complete control at that moment of both my tongue and my attitude. 1 Thessalonians 5:18 says: "Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."
The woman officer stopped a car that had been behind us and the male officer came up to our window. I already had our identification cards out of the glovebox and Jim pulled out his license. The officer spent some time on his walkie talkie and I noticed he was holding someone else’s license in his hand. He put it in a manila envelope, presumably with others that he had collected. I couldn’t help but notice at that moment that I wasn’t scared like I was a month ago. I wasn’t thrilled but I wasn’t scared. Progress.
The officer looked at Jim’s license and then asked if his name was “James”. Jim affirmed it was and the officer called him Don James…a sign of respect. Whether it was said with true respect or not, I can’t say but I can say the officer was very kind. When he discovered Jim couldn’t speak much Spanish and I couldn’t speak much more than Jim, he immediately slowed down and simplified his sentences. It seems that it is not legal to turn left out of the parking lot we were in. There are no signs that indicate that but there is a yellow no-passing stripe. Apparently that also means you can’t cross the line to get in to a lane of traffic unless there is a designated place which would allow you to turn left in to traffic. The officer was very kind but firm.
Jim apologized and the police officer began explaining he was going to keep Jim’s license. For just a moment, it was like déjà vu. But suddenly, things were different. We didn’t feel powerless and we didn’t feel scared. We felt that Jesus was right there, encouraging us to hold firm. If the officer took Jim’s license, then so be it. We were going to do what we should have done the first time. So when the officer showed us he was going to put Jim’s license in his envelope, we both smiled and said okay. He told us we would have to go to the bank tomorrow to pay the fine of 400 cordobas. Again, we smiled and said we understood. He said we would have to go to the Transit Office to get Jim’s license back and told us that it was down by Huembes Market. Still smiling, we said okay and I asked him what day we could pick it up.
At that point, I stumbled over which word to use for “what”…was it “Que” or was it “Cual”? Again, I smiled as I apologized for my botched Spanish. He told us we could get it “Freeday”. “Friday?” I asked. “Si, Friday”. The officer smiled then. Obviously, neither of us would soon be mistaken as being bilingual! Again, Jim and I affirmed we understood. The officer then looked at Jim’s license and our car registration card again. He asked what department we lived in, if it was Carazo? We told him no, even though that’s what the registration card indicates as that’s where the car originates from. We told him we live in Managua and Jim told him on Carreterra Sur. The officer looked at both of us and then handed us back our registration card and Jim’s license. He told us we could go on.
For a few seconds, we sat there in stunned silence! He never asked for money, he was polite and almost friendly. The officer extended his hand and as Jim took it to shake it, I told him in Spanish that we wanted God to bless him. He smiled a great smile and blessed us in return. We carefully pulled back in to traffic and headed on to Sinsa, thanking and praising God all the way. Now I know why the Spirit put the words of thankfulness on my lips as we were pulled over. It was in anticipation of what was going to happen next. God was going to be gracious in showing us that sometimes in life, He gives us “do-overs”.
Do I think we skated by without getting a ticket? Not at all. I think we received a gift. An undeserved gift. We could have just as easily ended up with Jim’s license in the officer’s envelope instead of back in his billfold. So, what really happened? What changed from a month ago? Jim didn’t intend to violate a traffic law last time any more than today. And ignorance of a law does not negate its existence nor is it a valid excuse when it’s broken. We were not victims then nor were we today…we just made different choices. A month ago, we were intimidated. Today, we were resolved. A month ago, we were afraid to have Jim’s license taken. Today, we were prepared to let it go. A month ago, we were ashamed. Today, we were joy-filled. A month ago, we forgot Who was our Authority. Today, we remembered.
The following week, we were stopped again just down the road from our house by a cadet who was training. It happened in front of the Police Academy and they frequently do routine stops there in order to teach the cadets the “proper” way to handle traffic violations. We knew why we were being stopped then and didn’t think much about it as there were lots of cars being stopped by the group of cadets…although the heart rate always goes up a bit when being pulled over, whether here or in the U.S. Our paperwork was all in order so after the supervisor gave our cadet the okay, we were back in traffic and on our way home.
Today, we had our third experience. Today continues to be a holiday…carrying over from yesterday which was Nicaragua’s Independence Day. Many of the businesses are closed today and the traffic is very light. We were supposed to meet Miguel for his lesson this morning but when we arrived at the church, it was locked up tight and no sign of Miguel. We are hoping he stayed home due to the holiday and nothing more than that to keep him from work.
After an unsuccessful trip to Metro Centro to try to find some wide clear tape (to tape some broken glass in one of our patio door sidelights) we decided to stop and eat lunch at Pizza Hut (they have a special where we both can eat lunch for $8) before heading on to Sinsa in hopes of finding our tape there. It has been almost a month since our last visit to Pizza Hut. It was that day that we were stopped by the corrupt cop…right after we had eaten lunch at Pizza Hut and made a trip to Sinsa.
That thought crossed my mind as we were leaving the restaurant because there was a cop who was trying to sort out the events of a fender bender that had occurred there in the parking lot which sits on a corner. Jim had his left turn signal on as he waited for the traffic to pass and then carefully turned left in to the correct lane that would go straight through the light. We had a red light and as we sat there, we noticed that there were two police officers standing off to the side of the road a ways down on the other side of the intersection. We even said something to each other about it. Jim is especially cautious when driving now after our previous experience.
It was at that moment that I remembered I hadn’t prayed as we were leaving the house this morning. It’s something I do every time we get in the car. I always pray out loud for us…for safe travel and protection from evil and for sensitivity to where God is working around us. So, as we sat at the light, I prayed out loud and because I had a “funny feeling” about the police ahead, I also prayed that God would speak to the hearts of those people in power who might be pulled towards corruption and that He would protect us from such people.
The light turned green and we began driving. I finished praying just as we got through the intersection and Jim had no more than thanked me for praying when we saw the two police officers, a man and a woman, move out to the edge of the lane of traffic and look right at us. It was no surprise when they then motioned for us to pull over to the edge of the road. I remember saying out loud, “Thank you, Lord,” and then asking Him for wisdom for us.
Right now, before I go any further, I want to say this is a perfect example of the Holy Spirit interceding. In the natural realm, I can’t imagine I would ever “naturally” thank the Lord for being pulled over by a cop in Managua. But thankfully, I believe the Spirit had complete control at that moment of both my tongue and my attitude. 1 Thessalonians 5:18 says: "Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."
The woman officer stopped a car that had been behind us and the male officer came up to our window. I already had our identification cards out of the glovebox and Jim pulled out his license. The officer spent some time on his walkie talkie and I noticed he was holding someone else’s license in his hand. He put it in a manila envelope, presumably with others that he had collected. I couldn’t help but notice at that moment that I wasn’t scared like I was a month ago. I wasn’t thrilled but I wasn’t scared. Progress.
The officer looked at Jim’s license and then asked if his name was “James”. Jim affirmed it was and the officer called him Don James…a sign of respect. Whether it was said with true respect or not, I can’t say but I can say the officer was very kind. When he discovered Jim couldn’t speak much Spanish and I couldn’t speak much more than Jim, he immediately slowed down and simplified his sentences. It seems that it is not legal to turn left out of the parking lot we were in. There are no signs that indicate that but there is a yellow no-passing stripe. Apparently that also means you can’t cross the line to get in to a lane of traffic unless there is a designated place which would allow you to turn left in to traffic. The officer was very kind but firm.
Jim apologized and the police officer began explaining he was going to keep Jim’s license. For just a moment, it was like déjà vu. But suddenly, things were different. We didn’t feel powerless and we didn’t feel scared. We felt that Jesus was right there, encouraging us to hold firm. If the officer took Jim’s license, then so be it. We were going to do what we should have done the first time. So when the officer showed us he was going to put Jim’s license in his envelope, we both smiled and said okay. He told us we would have to go to the bank tomorrow to pay the fine of 400 cordobas. Again, we smiled and said we understood. He said we would have to go to the Transit Office to get Jim’s license back and told us that it was down by Huembes Market. Still smiling, we said okay and I asked him what day we could pick it up.
At that point, I stumbled over which word to use for “what”…was it “Que” or was it “Cual”? Again, I smiled as I apologized for my botched Spanish. He told us we could get it “Freeday”. “Friday?” I asked. “Si, Friday”. The officer smiled then. Obviously, neither of us would soon be mistaken as being bilingual! Again, Jim and I affirmed we understood. The officer then looked at Jim’s license and our car registration card again. He asked what department we lived in, if it was Carazo? We told him no, even though that’s what the registration card indicates as that’s where the car originates from. We told him we live in Managua and Jim told him on Carreterra Sur. The officer looked at both of us and then handed us back our registration card and Jim’s license. He told us we could go on.
For a few seconds, we sat there in stunned silence! He never asked for money, he was polite and almost friendly. The officer extended his hand and as Jim took it to shake it, I told him in Spanish that we wanted God to bless him. He smiled a great smile and blessed us in return. We carefully pulled back in to traffic and headed on to Sinsa, thanking and praising God all the way. Now I know why the Spirit put the words of thankfulness on my lips as we were pulled over. It was in anticipation of what was going to happen next. God was going to be gracious in showing us that sometimes in life, He gives us “do-overs”.
Do I think we skated by without getting a ticket? Not at all. I think we received a gift. An undeserved gift. We could have just as easily ended up with Jim’s license in the officer’s envelope instead of back in his billfold. So, what really happened? What changed from a month ago? Jim didn’t intend to violate a traffic law last time any more than today. And ignorance of a law does not negate its existence nor is it a valid excuse when it’s broken. We were not victims then nor were we today…we just made different choices. A month ago, we were intimidated. Today, we were resolved. A month ago, we were afraid to have Jim’s license taken. Today, we were prepared to let it go. A month ago, we were ashamed. Today, we were joy-filled. A month ago, we forgot Who was our Authority. Today, we remembered.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Pixie...
pix·ie or pix·y...A fairylike or elfin creature, especially one that is mischievous; a playful sprite. adj. Playfully mischievous.It’s time to take a break from studying…my head is swimming in trying to remember all the different situations and distinguishing contexts in order to correctly use para and por, ser and estar, saber and conocer as well as all the other things I keep trying to cram in to this already-too-full mind of mine.
I need to “lighten up” a bit this afternoon. Studying is serious business and I not only need to take a break, I need to make myself laugh. And right now, the easiest way to do that is to tell you about our thoroughly enjoyable house guest. This particular blog entry is not mission related in any way, shape or form. But it’s a good picture of how one aspect of our life has been this week. We still have Susanna’s dog, Pixie, with us. She’s so much company and we absolutely adore her, but she’s also a handful at times. We’ve spent this week being trained to read Pixie “signs” which sometimes can be very subtle. Although, she’s been very good at waiting to get outside to take care of her personal needs.
Susanna had warned us that Pixie had become a chewer…she wasn’t kidding. When Susanna brought her over, Pixie’s bed was wet as Susanna said she had dragged it out in to the rain earlier that day. So, I took it to the utility room to let it dry in the pila (our concrete sink), and noticed it had several small holes around the padded rim. I smiled to myself, thinking that those small, little holes must have been the chewing that Susanna mentioned and honestly, didn’t give it much more thought. I put the pillow on the floor that Susanna had also brought for her since her bed was wet and Pixie quickly settled in.
Within an hour, Pixie had quietly managed to chew a whole in her pillow and apparently had given it a good shake because as I walked out of the kitchen, our living room looked like a chicken had exploded! There were feathers everywhere! So, I scolded her and took her pillow away from her, putting it up out of reach on the top bunk bed in the front bedroom. Pixie sat on the floor, looking up longingly at her pillow with the saddest looking little eyes! Feeling badly that she had lost her comfy pillow to sleep on and that her bed still wasn’t dry, I caved in and gave her an old green towel which was meant for her to lie on. She quickly and methodically proceeded to put about a jillion holes in it. Pixie is a small dog but apparently, she has some pretty mighty canines because she aerated that towel in nothing flat.
Being the eternal optimist that I am, (actually more like a slow learner), I also gave her a very scary looking stuffed doll that we had here in the house (I won’t even go in to why we have that doll) for her to carry around, thinking it might be comforting…although Pixie wasn’t acting much like she needed any comfort…just a good chew bone. She carried the doll as far as the living room where she proceeded to chew off its foot and pull the stuffing out. The doll, looking even more frightening with a foot missing and large tufts of fur-like hair pulled out, has joined the deflated pillow on the top bunk.
Jim gave her a donated tennis ball to play with in hopes that would keep her busy and be a little more indestructible. The ball has been a great hit for playing fetch and thus far, has not been demolished. Unfortunately, it hasn’t seemed to satisfy her chewing urge though. We found that out through another unfortunate good-intention-gone-awry incident.
We have recently had some very strong thunder storms moving through our area every few days or so. Pixie is terrified of thunder and the thunder here seems to be magnified in intensity and duration. It doesn’t just rumble in the distance, it rumbles at great length, right through the entire house, shaking everything, including Pixie. A few days after she arrived, we had a particularly strong storm with lightning bolts striking all around us. I have to admit, Pixie wasn’t the only one shaking that day. It was the worst storm we had been in to date. I grabbed a blanket off the bunk bed to wrap around Pixie to try to calm her down. I’ve never seen a dog shake so violently. The storm finally passed, leaving our neighbors without electricity and Pixie exhausted. She quickly fell sound asleep, all wrapped up in her blanket cocoon. She looked peaceful enough, so I headed off to the kitchen to fix supper.
When I came back in to tell Jim that supper was ready, I saw that Pixie had woken up, completely refreshed by her nap, and full of the need to decimate something. I don’t know what she was thinking other than she must have felt the need to avenge her earlier terror by ripping apart the blanket. Needless to say, it no longer will serve its original intended purpose for us but is now acting as a covering for the ugly maimed doll and poor punctured pillow. I have let her keep the holey towel.
Her little bed finally dried and when I got it, I watched to make sure there wouldn’t be any more chewing incidents. But with life being as it is, I wasn’t able to stand guard round the clock. Meals needed to be fixed, laundry done, showers taken, etc. And foolishly, I turned my back on Pixie. Did you know the padding around the edges of those little dog beds is made of big fluffy wads of fiberfill which is easily removed by a deviously determined little dog? The one-footed, patchy haired doll now sleeps on the top bunk, covered with a holey blanket and snuggled down in Pixie’s not-so-fiber”full” bed. The top bunk has turned in to a haven for those items that have suffered the wrath of Pixie.
So, during the day, Pixie has been relegated to be happy with her tennis ball and the now, very light and airy green towel. For whatever reason, when it’s bed time, she will lay in her bed without chewing on it and peacefully go to sleep. I guess her aggression towards inanimate objects only manifests itself during daylight hours. Thinking that I had Pixie-proofed the house, I was baffled when I saw little pieces of hard, white rubber all over the floor. I couldn’t figure out what on earth they were. Following the fragmented trail, I discovered Pixie happily shredding one of our doorstops, wagging her tail furiously the whole time. Of course, I took it away from her, scolded her and did what with it? Yep. Put it right back under our door. I don’t think I can ever say “dumber than a dog” again.
For the last few days, there has been a great battle of the wills between dog and woman re: these silly doorstops. She hasn’t touched the dark brown ones, but all of the white ones have been well-gnawed and reshaped. When my girls and even my grandchildren, were little, I refused to put things away, believing they needed to learn what was permissible to play with and what wasn’t. If something was truly valuable and irreplaceable, of course I would remove it from reach, but otherwise, I figured they were smart kids and would learn how to live in a real house and not a giant toy store. I guess I assumed that same line of thinking could be applied to Pixie. You know that phrase, “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks”? I’m afraid it’s true. See, I haven’t yet learned to pick up the white doorstops and add them to the top bunk, preferring instead to be on Diligent Doorstop Duty, guarding the rubber remnants in hopes of winning this battle with this red-coated, playfully mischievous little sprite. What an aptly named dog.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Out and about...
Here's the 3rd post for the day. If I was smart, I would spread these out over the next couple of days but life here is never predictable so I thought I just better get it done because I have no idea what tomorrow might bring.
Christo Rey...the statue that sits in the center of Rotunda Santo Domingo...the patron saint of Managua. It is covered with grafitti and there are political protests that are set up there every afternoon.
An out-of-business car wash on a busy street that someone has turned in to their home. They've covered the caved-in open part of the roof with plastic to keep out the rains. This house has a small child that I often see out on the sidewalk by himself. There's an open, uncovered sewer drain on the corner...I worry about this little guy every time I see him.
I don't remember the names of these characters but they dance and swirl through the streets with the drummer loudly playing in order to announce their coming. They tell riddles, jokes and poems generally entertain bystanders in exchange for 1 or 2 cords. From what I understand, the jokes can be pretty off-color. The day we saw this group, the drummer came over to our car and started speaking insistently to me. I told him I only under-stood a very little Spanish. He promptly rubbed his fingers together and said, "Money, money!" I gave him 5 cords and told him that was all the "money, money" he was getting. He laughed and went on his way. 
It's still not unusual to see teams of oxen pulling loaded c
arts through the city streets. Those are usually seen more in the earlier hours of the morning than later in the day. Traffic gets to be too heavy for the slow ox carts but the horse drawn carts are seen at all hours and are a common sight in this capital city. This is a young team of oxen. There are some we have seen that are massive in size and yet are driven by young children.
This post is just an assortment of pictures taken as we travel around town, usually to and from school. I never know what I'm going to see...usually the camera is tucked in to Jim's pocket but I've tried to be more diligent about keeping it in my lap, ready to shoot. Unfortunately, half the time, we're already past whatever it is that's caught my eye and the picture remains in my mind and never makes it to the camera card. Hope you enjoy these...I'm constantly blessed and amazed by what God brings before us.
Traffic backed up in the Rotunda de Periodista, horns honking madly, as if that would make the traffic all begin to run smoothly!
Street juggler performing...when he finishes, he goes car to car and asking for 1 cord
oba. Right now, the exchange rate is 19.4 cords to the dollar. Managua is a hot city. The sun beats down on the streets making it even hotter. I can't imagine how hot this clown suit must be on this young boy. Usually we don't give to the street venders, there's hundreds and hundreds of them. My heart was moved to give this boy more than he asked for this day. When he realized I dropped more than 1 cord in his hand, he glanced down and then glanced again. I even got a smile in return.
oba. Right now, the exchange rate is 19.4 cords to the dollar. Managua is a hot city. The sun beats down on the streets making it even hotter. I can't imagine how hot this clown suit must be on this young boy. Usually we don't give to the street venders, there's hundreds and hundreds of them. My heart was moved to give this boy more than he asked for this day. When he realized I dropped more than 1 cord in his hand, he glanced down and then glanced again. I even got a smile in return.
Christo Rey...the statue that sits in the center of Rotunda Santo Domingo...the patron saint of Managua. It is covered with grafitti and there are political protests that are set up there every afternoon.
The national soccer team traveling in their team bus. I can't imagine some of our highly overpaid athletes in the U.S. being happy with having to travel around like this. This is actually a pretty nice private coach compared to the mass transportation most other folks have to depend on.
An out-of-business car wash on a busy street that someone has turned in to their home. They've covered the caved-in open part of the roof with plastic to keep out the rains. This house has a small child that I often see out on the sidewalk by himself. There's an open, uncovered sewer drain on the corner...I worry about this little guy every time I see him.
I don't remember the names of these characters but they dance and swirl through the streets with the drummer loudly playing in order to announce their coming. They tell riddles, jokes and poems generally entertain bystanders in exchange for 1 or 2 cords. From what I understand, the jokes can be pretty off-color. The day we saw this group, the drummer came over to our car and started speaking insistently to me. I told him I only under-stood a very little Spanish. He promptly rubbed his fingers together and said, "Money, money!" I gave him 5 cords and told him that was all the "money, money" he was getting. He laughed and went on his way. 
It's still not unusual to see teams of oxen pulling loaded c
arts through the city streets. Those are usually seen more in the earlier hours of the morning than later in the day. Traffic gets to be too heavy for the slow ox carts but the horse drawn carts are seen at all hours and are a common sight in this capital city. This is a young team of oxen. There are some we have seen that are massive in size and yet are driven by young children.
Driving through the dump at Jinotepe on our way out to and back from the medical clinic.
Home at last. There are days I love to be out and about and days that are stressful from the moment we fasten our seat belts, but there's always something comforting and assuring about 
coming back to what has become our home. It's far from perfect but it's the place God has provided for us and that makes it special enough for us. Thanks for taking the tour with us!
coming back to what has become our home. It's far from perfect but it's the place God has provided for us and that makes it special enough for us. Thanks for taking the tour with us! Cuajada to cannas...
At this month’s medical clinic, the highlight of the day for me came when I was given the opportunity to get to interact with a woman named Olga, who lives right behind the school where the clinic is held. I’ve seen her before at the clinics and have always thought she had such a sweet spirit. Rhonda, the missionary from Jinotepe with whom we work, mentioned that Olga was the lady who made and sold her cuajada. Cuajada is a local cheese made from fresh cow’s milk, still warm and mixed with either vinegar or a cuajo tablet (similar to rennet) to curdle it. The watery curds are kneaded by hand so that the water is squeezed out of it. It sits to “make” and then is wrapped in banana leaves and the p
acket tied with a fibrous plant “string” to help keep it “fresh”.
It doesn’t sound very appetizing but it is quite good...or maybe I’m just getting used to the food here, I don’t know. It’s not available in stores and one either makes it themselves or buys it from someone who knows how to make it. Making cuajada is becoming a lost art in so many areas here in Nicaragua. It’s also something I wouldn’t let anyone visiting from the States try because it’s not pasteurized and certainly isn’t made under the most sanitary conditions. But it’s made with pride and tradition and is becoming harder and harder to find.
When Rhonda told me Olga was the one who made the cuajada, I told her I would love to buy some from her sometime. Olga said she was going to go make some right then and I could buy it before we left. She asked how much I wanted and I told her two balls, thinking they would be small like the ones I have seen here in Managua. She acted surprised. I asked her how long they would keep and she said that if they were kept cooler, then they would keep longer. A typical Nicaraguan answer…an answer, yes, but not an answer to the question I asked. Rhonda laughed and said that hers usually lasts a couple of weeks in the refrigerator and so I thought I would go ahead and get two since we typically eat a lot of cheese as an alternative source of protein for us since red meat is so expensive.
Olga smiled and said she needed to go get more milk from her cow and hoped the cow would have enough milk to make a second ball. Before I could tell her not to worry with it, she was gone. Rhonda explained to me how the cuajada is made and that it is a labor intensive process since the cheese has to be made from warm milk right from the cow. I suddenly felt badly that she was going to go try to get more milk from a cow that was probably already not giving enough milk to take care of her family as they would hope. I said something to Rhonda and she told me that Olga sells the cuajada to make extra money for the family and that it was okay. She said that she recently raised her price from 20 cords and now sells her cuajada for 25 cords a ball…which is less than $1.30.
Later that morning, when there was a bit of a lull, Rhonda and I walked over to Olga’s house so we could see some of the process of how the cuajada is made. Mind you, walking to Olga’s is not like strolling on a sidewalk to a house down the street. We walked down a slight embankment behind the school, squeezed through two fence posts made of limbs that had been cut down and while at the same time, ducking under a strand of old rusty barbed wire that served as a property marker.
Olga lives in a little community of about 4-5 houses where each household is related to the others. There were chickens and dogs and of course, children. The houses were made of scrap pieces of wood and tin – typical houses you find in the Nica campo (country). Usually this kind of sight is disturbing to me. But this time, there was something different about Olga’s house. Flowers…flowers that had been planted deliberately and with thought given to their size and location! She even had herbs planted outside her door. I felt an immediate kinship to this woman with whom I struggled to communicate.
Rhonda and I went on to the open door and Rhonda called inside. Olga responded and we went on in, stepping in to her living area, wiping our feet in to a small pile of sawdust to help remove the dirt from our shoes. The first thing I noticed was a beautiful tile floor that covered the living room area. It didn’t seem to be on any kind of concrete base but rather just laid down on top of the dirt. There were several rocking chairs that sat on the perimeter of the room and there was a small mirror on one wall. I could see in to the bedroom…it was a dirt floor. There was a double bed and a small, odd-sized obviously handmade bed next to it. I caught a glimpse of a hammock next to the small bed and wondered how many people slept in that one room. We proceeded on in to the matchbox sized kitchen – the only other room in the house. The three of us filled the area.
Olga was still kneading the cuajada when we walked in and seemed to be embarrassed that I was there with Rhonda. I had Rhonda tell her I was curious how the cheese was made and wanted to see how she did it. She immediately smiled and proceeded to tell us her process, all the while kneading while she talked. Because she was talking directly to me, I didn’t get much of an opportunity to look around the small kitchen but did notice she had two covered pots cooking on a small 2-burner propane cook stove (like one you would use to go camping, but certainly not as nice or as large as the Coleman’s with which we’re familiar). The cook stove sat on an elevated piece of wood. She also had a small, apartment-sized refrigerator sitting next to her tiny dry sink area. The “shelves” consisted of cross boards in the kitchen. We watched her work for a few minutes and then went on back to the clinic.
That afternoon, as we were closing up the clinic, Rhonda and I went back over to Olga’s. She handed me a little plastic bag with the two wrapped balls of cuajada plus she had also put in a pitahaya for me. The pitahaya is a fruit grown from a cactus and is also known in the States as a dragonfruit. There are several different varieties but the one grown here in Nicaragua has a bright reddish-purple flesh which is often mixed with small limes (called lemons here) and azucar (sugar) and made in to a delicious fruit drink. The caution with pitahaya is to be careful with the juice as it will stain clothing and skin. It’s so saturated with color.
I thanked Olga and gave her 3-20 cord bills. She excused herself as she started in to her house to get me my change. I stopped her and told her that I would like for her to keep the other 10 cords as I knew she had to go milk her cow again to get more milk for my cuajada and that I appreciated her going to the extra trouble that it took and on such short notice to make my cheese. She was stunned and looked at Rhonda. Rhonda just smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Olga looked back at me and I told her muchas gracias (you can figure that one out yourselves) and she shook her head no and thanked me in return.
About that time Rhonda asked me what the name of one of the plants was that Olga was growing. It was balsam. I started telling Rhonda about how easy it is to grow and showed her the seed pods. Olga saw us looking at it and asked if we would like some. Rhonda told her yes and so Olga told her son to go get a piece of paper. He brought out a piece of notebook paper torn out of his schoolbook. She started pulling off seed pods from all the various colors of balsam she had planted. They’re such a tall, stately plant anyway, but here, the stalks are really thick and fibrous which makes them look like they’ll be much more stable. The language barrier seemed to dissolve as we moved from plant to plant, with Olga telling us the name in Spanish and I would tell her the common American name. We each laughed at the strange sounds the other would speak for the plants we both loved. Rhonda told her Jim and I used to own a greenhouse and that I loved flowers and missed having a yard filled with them. She nodded knowingly.
Olga had flowers planted in any spare container she could find. There were impatiens planted in old plastic jugs that had been cut open and filled with dirt. There were hibiscus cuttings that had recently been transplanted in to little mounds. An old oil container held a recently planted coleus. Olga was my kind of gardener. She proudly pointed out a red-stemmed plant with a variegated shell shaped leaf. She didn’t know the name of it and said it didn’t bloom but that its attraction was the bright red stem and that it was not very common. The name of the plant was irrelevant to her…she had it in her “garden” because she loved how it looked. She was obviously very proud of her specimen. I liked this woman. She loved plants for their unique beauty and she loved to share that beauty with others who saw those plants through similar eyes.
All of a sudden, I saw behind one of her trees, the most beautiful salmon colored canna. She saw me look at it and asked Rhonda if I had any of those at my house. I told her no, but I wanted to get some started some day. She said something to her son and he once again disappeared in to the house, emerging with three more pieces of notebook paper. Olga grabbed the machete sitting by the side door and dug up two of the small salmon colored cannas and wrapped the base of them in the paper. She proudly handed me the gift. I was so touched and greatly pleased. I know my face revealed both emotions because her smile was gentle and she nodded as I thanked her. She told Rhonda that anytime we wanted more flowers, we could come back and she would be glad to share. Olga is a true gardener. She may not know botanical names and she may not have beautiful or expensive containers planted to showcase her flowers, but she has the heart and the spirit of a true gardener. She wants to share her bounty. As we were leaving, she also gave Rhonda two eggs, one for each of Rhonda’s children. Yes, Olga is a woman who shares.
I’m excited that I found someone to make cuajada. But more than that, I’m touched and my heart is warmed that I found someone who loves flowers in the same way I do. I can hardly wait to get my cannas in the ground and am already wondering what plant I can take back with me next month to share with Olga, perhaps my Tortuga. I think she would like it. It’s got a beautiful shape and unusual leaf. I don’t know the real name of it. It’s just what it’s called here because the leaf looks like a turtle shell. In Spanish, a turtle is a Tortuga. Sharing…that’s what gardeners do. I’m praying that someday, I will be able to share more than my plants with Olga.
acket tied with a fibrous plant “string” to help keep it “fresh”.It doesn’t sound very appetizing but it is quite good...or maybe I’m just getting used to the food here, I don’t know. It’s not available in stores and one either makes it themselves or buys it from someone who knows how to make it. Making cuajada is becoming a lost art in so many areas here in Nicaragua. It’s also something I wouldn’t let anyone visiting from the States try because it’s not pasteurized and certainly isn’t made under the most sanitary conditions. But it’s made with pride and tradition and is becoming harder and harder to find.
When Rhonda told me Olga was the one who made the cuajada, I told her I would love to buy some from her sometime. Olga said she was going to go make some right then and I could buy it before we left. She asked how much I wanted and I told her two balls, thinking they would be small like the ones I have seen here in Managua. She acted surprised. I asked her how long they would keep and she said that if they were kept cooler, then they would keep longer. A typical Nicaraguan answer…an answer, yes, but not an answer to the question I asked. Rhonda laughed and said that hers usually lasts a couple of weeks in the refrigerator and so I thought I would go ahead and get two since we typically eat a lot of cheese as an alternative source of protein for us since red meat is so expensive.
Olga smiled and said she needed to go get more milk from her cow and hoped the cow would have enough milk to make a second ball. Before I could tell her not to worry with it, she was gone. Rhonda explained to me how the cuajada is made and that it is a labor intensive process since the cheese has to be made from warm milk right from the cow. I suddenly felt badly that she was going to go try to get more milk from a cow that was probably already not giving enough milk to take care of her family as they would hope. I said something to Rhonda and she told me that Olga sells the cuajada to make extra money for the family and that it was okay. She said that she recently raised her price from 20 cords and now sells her cuajada for 25 cords a ball…which is less than $1.30.
Later that morning, when there was a bit of a lull, Rhonda and I walked over to Olga’s house so we could see some of the process of how the cuajada is made. Mind you, walking to Olga’s is not like strolling on a sidewalk to a house down the street. We walked down a slight embankment behind the school, squeezed through two fence posts made of limbs that had been cut down and while at the same time, ducking under a strand of old rusty barbed wire that served as a property marker.
Olga lives in a little community of about 4-5 houses where each household is related to the others. There were chickens and dogs and of course, children. The houses were made of scrap pieces of wood and tin – typical houses you find in the Nica campo (country). Usually this kind of sight is disturbing to me. But this time, there was something different about Olga’s house. Flowers…flowers that had been planted deliberately and with thought given to their size and location! She even had herbs planted outside her door. I felt an immediate kinship to this woman with whom I struggled to communicate.
Rhonda and I went on to the open door and Rhonda called inside. Olga responded and we went on in, stepping in to her living area, wiping our feet in to a small pile of sawdust to help remove the dirt from our shoes. The first thing I noticed was a beautiful tile floor that covered the living room area. It didn’t seem to be on any kind of concrete base but rather just laid down on top of the dirt. There were several rocking chairs that sat on the perimeter of the room and there was a small mirror on one wall. I could see in to the bedroom…it was a dirt floor. There was a double bed and a small, odd-sized obviously handmade bed next to it. I caught a glimpse of a hammock next to the small bed and wondered how many people slept in that one room. We proceeded on in to the matchbox sized kitchen – the only other room in the house. The three of us filled the area.
Olga was still kneading the cuajada when we walked in and seemed to be embarrassed that I was there with Rhonda. I had Rhonda tell her I was curious how the cheese was made and wanted to see how she did it. She immediately smiled and proceeded to tell us her process, all the while kneading while she talked. Because she was talking directly to me, I didn’t get much of an opportunity to look around the small kitchen but did notice she had two covered pots cooking on a small 2-burner propane cook stove (like one you would use to go camping, but certainly not as nice or as large as the Coleman’s with which we’re familiar). The cook stove sat on an elevated piece of wood. She also had a small, apartment-sized refrigerator sitting next to her tiny dry sink area. The “shelves” consisted of cross boards in the kitchen. We watched her work for a few minutes and then went on back to the clinic.
That afternoon, as we were closing up the clinic, Rhonda and I went back over to Olga’s. She handed me a little plastic bag with the two wrapped balls of cuajada plus she had also put in a pitahaya for me. The pitahaya is a fruit grown from a cactus and is also known in the States as a dragonfruit. There are several different varieties but the one grown here in Nicaragua has a bright reddish-purple flesh which is often mixed with small limes (called lemons here) and azucar (sugar) and made in to a delicious fruit drink. The caution with pitahaya is to be careful with the juice as it will stain clothing and skin. It’s so saturated with color.
I thanked Olga and gave her 3-20 cord bills. She excused herself as she started in to her house to get me my change. I stopped her and told her that I would like for her to keep the other 10 cords as I knew she had to go milk her cow again to get more milk for my cuajada and that I appreciated her going to the extra trouble that it took and on such short notice to make my cheese. She was stunned and looked at Rhonda. Rhonda just smiled and shrugged her shoulders. Olga looked back at me and I told her muchas gracias (you can figure that one out yourselves) and she shook her head no and thanked me in return.
About that time Rhonda asked me what the name of one of the plants was that Olga was growing. It was balsam. I started telling Rhonda about how easy it is to grow and showed her the seed pods. Olga saw us looking at it and asked if we would like some. Rhonda told her yes and so Olga told her son to go get a piece of paper. He brought out a piece of notebook paper torn out of his schoolbook. She started pulling off seed pods from all the various colors of balsam she had planted. They’re such a tall, stately plant anyway, but here, the stalks are really thick and fibrous which makes them look like they’ll be much more stable. The language barrier seemed to dissolve as we moved from plant to plant, with Olga telling us the name in Spanish and I would tell her the common American name. We each laughed at the strange sounds the other would speak for the plants we both loved. Rhonda told her Jim and I used to own a greenhouse and that I loved flowers and missed having a yard filled with them. She nodded knowingly.
Olga had flowers planted in any spare container she could find. There were impatiens planted in old plastic jugs that had been cut open and filled with dirt. There were hibiscus cuttings that had recently been transplanted in to little mounds. An old oil container held a recently planted coleus. Olga was my kind of gardener. She proudly pointed out a red-stemmed plant with a variegated shell shaped leaf. She didn’t know the name of it and said it didn’t bloom but that its attraction was the bright red stem and that it was not very common. The name of the plant was irrelevant to her…she had it in her “garden” because she loved how it looked. She was obviously very proud of her specimen. I liked this woman. She loved plants for their unique beauty and she loved to share that beauty with others who saw those plants through similar eyes.
All of a sudden, I saw behind one of her trees, the most beautiful salmon colored canna. She saw me look at it and asked Rhonda if I had any of those at my house. I told her no, but I wanted to get some started some day. She said something to her son and he once again disappeared in to the house, emerging with three more pieces of notebook paper. Olga grabbed the machete sitting by the side door and dug up two of the small salmon colored cannas and wrapped the base of them in the paper. She proudly handed me the gift. I was so touched and greatly pleased. I know my face revealed both emotions because her smile was gentle and she nodded as I thanked her. She told Rhonda that anytime we wanted more flowers, we could come back and she would be glad to share. Olga is a true gardener. She may not know botanical names and she may not have beautiful or expensive containers planted to showcase her flowers, but she has the heart and the spirit of a true gardener. She wants to share her bounty. As we were leaving, she also gave Rhonda two eggs, one for each of Rhonda’s children. Yes, Olga is a woman who shares.
I’m excited that I found someone to make cuajada. But more than that, I’m touched and my heart is warmed that I found someone who loves flowers in the same way I do. I can hardly wait to get my cannas in the ground and am already wondering what plant I can take back with me next month to share with Olga, perhaps my Tortuga. I think she would like it. It’s got a beautiful shape and unusual leaf. I don’t know the real name of it. It’s just what it’s called here because the leaf looks like a turtle shell. In Spanish, a turtle is a Tortuga. Sharing…that’s what gardeners do. I’m praying that someday, I will be able to share more than my plants with Olga.
A good time was had by all...
It seems as if it’s been forever since I’ve sat down at the keyboard to tap out reflections and emotions…I think I am about to burst! It’s way past time for me to update you on our days here. First of all…WHEW! We’re tired. For the last three weeks, with the exception of taking care of the most basic necessities, we’ve been devoting almost every waking minute to studying Spanish, either in our 20 hour per week class or on our own…and I have to say, we’re both exhausted! We’re tired of stretching our no-longer elastic brains in order to hold our new vocabulary, definitions, regular and irregular verbs, greetings, prepositions, articles, correct gender of nouns, and so on. At times (probably 90% of the time), it all seems too much…but God reminds us every day that all things are possible with Him. We’re praying that “all things” means exactly that and encompasses our learning a new language.
missionary we work with at Jinotepe, is using Susanna’s car (a white 1998 4-Runner) while she’s gone. His van could never have made it through some of the areas we had to traverse. Although I was disappointed the pictures don’t adequately show the road conditions, in this picture, you can see Roger had his own opportunities to slip-slide his way to the clinic. I couldn’t help but smile thinking that God must be smiling at Jim and Roger finding such joy at playing in the mud! I know Jim was grinning ear to ear and almost seemed a little disappointed when we finally arrived at the school where the medical clinic is held.
The clinic was held without incidence but the numbers were way down due to the weather. Even though those who come do not do so by car, the mud, which was knee-deep in some places, was enough of a deterrent to most of the folks who have come to depend on this monthly clinic. Only those who were the most determined or could get there in spite of the weather, came. Still, there were a steady stream of patients. Francisco, is 75 years old and he gets his much needed monthly meds through this clinic. I wondered if we would see him. Sure enough, he was one of the first. Boots and pant-legs covered with mud, but he was there.
We have become a bit braver in trying to speak with people…and for the most part, we can make ourselves understood – thanks to their graciousness, patience and love of charades. The problem comes when they try to speak back! So far, our brains don’t work nearly as quickly as sound travels. When these foreign utterances hit our ears and we begin to try to mentally translate each word, we have discovered that these speaker’s tongues are flying ninety-to-nothing and we’re creeping along, still trying to assess the meaning of the initial sentence. A frustrating experience for both sides, I’m sure…it certainly is for us.
Towards the end of this week, Jim and I both were becoming very discouraged and wondering how on earth we were ever going to manage here…we are tired and we feel such an urgency to learn it all “now”. An unrealistic expectation, at the least. You know how scripture speaks of God’s people crying out to Him? Been there. Am there. And He has been faithful to answer in the most unexpected way… a little dog. “Who am I that you are mindful of me? That you hear me when I call?...God Almighty, Lord of Glory, You have called me friend.”
Susanna left for the States Thursday night to attend a conference on tropical medicine and asked if we would keep her dog, Pixie. She will be gone a little over 2 weeks. Of course, we jumped at the opportunity. Susanna does so much for us and this seemed like such a small th
ing to offer in return…plus, we love her silly little dog! So, we can’t even say it’s a sacrifice…it’s a pleasure. But, Pixie is an inside-outside dog and we don’t have a way to contain her outside when we’re not here so naturally, when Pixie comes to our house, she becomes an inside dog. Without going in to all that means, I will just say that having Pixie here for two weeks necessitates we be home for two weeks or take her with us when we go. So, to get to the point, we are taking a two week hiatus from school. Have I said we LOVE that little dog?!?
ing to offer in return…plus, we love her silly little dog! So, we can’t even say it’s a sacrifice…it’s a pleasure. But, Pixie is an inside-outside dog and we don’t have a way to contain her outside when we’re not here so naturally, when Pixie comes to our house, she becomes an inside dog. Without going in to all that means, I will just say that having Pixie here for two weeks necessitates we be home for two weeks or take her with us when we go. So, to get to the point, we are taking a two week hiatus from school. Have I said we LOVE that little dog?!? This time of “rest” will actually be a time of reviewing and re-committing to memory the lessons from the last three weeks but at our own pace and without the pressure that the daily class requires. It’s a good thing and for us a necessary thing and of course, most welcome. It also is giving us time to take care of some chores around the house which we’ve just not had time to address, such as Jim caulking around the trim in the ceiling of our bedroom so that the bat “goo” doesn’t run down the wall…yuk…gives me the shivers writing it, let alone looking at it. It also is giving me time to get three loads of laundry done in one day (the sun is shining today). It’s been over 3 weeks since I’ve had all the laundry done in one day!
The rainy season obviously brings a whole new set of challenges than the ones we faced when we first arrived. Not only does it keep clothes from drying, it accelerates mold and mildew on every surface…including the inside of our shoes. I don’t know the real fix for that but I have discovered that rubbing Germ-X on the soles of my Birkenstocks and then setting them out in the sun seems to take care of it. Another shiver just ran up my spine…these are things I just never gave any thought to having to deal with when we moved her. Boy, am I learning a new way of life!
The rains also drive every kind of insect imaginable indoors. The mosquitoes and ants are always a problem but there seem to be even more of them now than before. And there is something just plain wrong with seeing a slug crawling up the wall here in the study. The last few days have brought a new, flying insect of some sort which seems to prefer the damp environment of our bathroom, not a welcome sight when pulling back the shower curtain to get out to dry off. And although the temperatures drop when it’s actually raining, they don’t stay down. Once the rain has passed, it leaves behind a steamy day and often, an uncomfortable night. Believe me, we are extremely thankful for our “ventiladors” (fans) and the fact our electricity has been staying on pretty consistently lately so that we can run them.
So back to taking a couple of weeks off…it would have been wonderful to have slept in yesterday and to have just bummed around all day. But, God has said we can have two weeks break from school, not two weeks break from the work He has put before us. So, we were up at 5:00 to get ready for the monthly medical clinic at Jinotepe. This time, we took a young man whom we met last Saturday at a day-long conference we attended for new missionaries to the country. It was entitled Orientation to Cross-Cultural Ministry in Nicaragua and was well worth our time. We not only were presented with pertinent information to our work here under the current political situation but also such topics were covered as transitioning to a new culture, cross-cultural relationships, etc. And it also afforded us all an opportunity to “network” with other folks and to hear a little of their stories and about their ministries. 
“Networking”…what a buzz word that is and actually not one of my favorite ones. It’s too sterile and too business-like. I prefer to think of it as simply meeting other people and beginning the process of developing relationships. Maybe that’s one reason why Jim and I sti
ck out so much from so many of the other missionaries we’ve met. Most are young, very well-educated and seem to have a well-constructed map to get them through the desert to their Promised Land. They all seem to “network” very well. We’re obviously not young, we both regret not furthering our formal education when younger and the only map we have is a well-creased, much-used and slightly grungy very basic map of the major roads of Managua. I just like visiting with people one on one and getting to know their hearts.
ck out so much from so many of the other missionaries we’ve met. Most are young, very well-educated and seem to have a well-constructed map to get them through the desert to their Promised Land. They all seem to “network” very well. We’re obviously not young, we both regret not furthering our formal education when younger and the only map we have is a well-creased, much-used and slightly grungy very basic map of the major roads of Managua. I just like visiting with people one on one and getting to know their hearts. Through that desire to hear people’s stories at the conference, we met a young man named John Andrew (Andrew is his middle name…not his last). He just was graduated from college this past 
spring and will be starting med school next year. He wanted to take a year off before starting back in to school and felt God was bringing him to Nicaragua for that time. He has been here a month and is teaching English to 3rd graders and high school students at a rural school. The family he is staying with lives quite a ways off the beaten path. He is without transportation and has not had the chance to make friends. As a result, he has not had an opportunity to see much of Managua, let alone anywhere else. So, a few days before we were to do the clinic, I called him and asked if he would like to go with us. John Andrew jumped at the opportunity…to get out of the house, to spend a day with people who speak fluent English, to go see new sights and to do it all in his field of interest!
spring and will be starting med school next year. He wanted to take a year off before starting back in to school and felt God was bringing him to Nicaragua for that time. He has been here a month and is teaching English to 3rd graders and high school students at a rural school. The family he is staying with lives quite a ways off the beaten path. He is without transportation and has not had the chance to make friends. As a result, he has not had an opportunity to see much of Managua, let alone anywhere else. So, a few days before we were to do the clinic, I called him and asked if he would like to go with us. John Andrew jumped at the opportunity…to get out of the house, to spend a day with people who speak fluent English, to go see new sights and to do it all in his field of interest! Jinotepe is at a higher elevation than Managua and has received much more rain. This translated to a soupy, sometimes axle-deep, what would have appeared to be an impassable road. But thanks to God’s faithfulness, Jim gleefully put our 4-Runner in to 4WD and we managed to go through even the deepest, muckiest stuff without any problems. Roger, the
missionary we work with at Jinotepe, is using Susanna’s car (a white 1998 4-Runner) while she’s gone. His van could never have made it through some of the areas we had to traverse. Although I was disappointed the pictures don’t adequately show the road conditions, in this picture, you can see Roger had his own opportunities to slip-slide his way to the clinic. I couldn’t help but smile thinking that God must be smiling at Jim and Roger finding such joy at playing in the mud! I know Jim was grinning ear to ear and almost seemed a little disappointed when we finally arrived at the school where the medical clinic is held.
The clinic was held without incidence but the numbers were way down due to the weather. Even though those who come do not do so by car, the mud, which was knee-deep in some places, was enough of a deterrent to most of the folks who have come to depend on this monthly clinic. Only those who were the most determined or could get there in spite of the weather, came. Still, there were a steady stream of patients. Francisco, is 75 years old and he gets his much needed monthly meds through this clinic. I wondered if we would see him. Sure enough, he was one of the first. Boots and pant-legs covered with mud, but he was there. Since Susanna was not there, Rhonda took the blood pressure and weights of every patient. ..with the exception of one gentleman who came towards the end of our day there. Rhonda was in with the doctors and so I was given the task of taking his blood pressure. Thankfully, Susanna had showed me how to use her electronic bp cuff but it was still with great trepidation that I slipped it on his arm and began pumping the hand pump to increase the pressure in the cuff. Sometimes the machine doesn’t get a good reading and it’s necessary to start over and to pump to a higher pressure. I prayed that I wouldn’t pump it so high that I would hurt the man and I am very pleased and grateful to say that I got a successful reading without exploding either his hand or his head. I'm sure he felt the same way.
John Andrew got a taste of “filling the ‘scripts” and also got to sit in with the doctors some. He struggled along with the rest of us to read the doctor’s handwriting on the prescriptions. Hopefully, one day in the future when he’s writing his own prescriptions, he will reflect back on that day and remember how difficult it was to decipher the hieroglyphics that were presented to us on little squares of scratch paper…and perhaps he will print, neatly and legibly, for whoever the pharmacist is that happens to be given the task of filling that order. Hopefully.
It was a hot day, even though overcast and thunder rumbled in the distance. At one point, it was quiet and we were without any people in our area. I looked over and saw one tired, worn out John Andrew catching 40 winks. These days can be long and draining but they a
re always so rewarding and we have never gone home feeling like it was a wasted day. How could it be? What could be better than to be with brothers and sisters in Christ who are ministering to the hurting of the world? Jim and I always are so thankful we are blessed to be able to participate in this monthly clinic. It seems like in reality, we’re the patients and God treats us with the perfect medicines…the smiles and hugs from such sweet and humble people, little boys blowing bubbles and big boys 4-wheeling through the mud. It was a good day.
It was a hot day, even though overcast and thunder rumbled in the distance. At one point, it was quiet and we were without any people in our area. I looked over and saw one tired, worn out John Andrew catching 40 winks. These days can be long and draining but they a
re always so rewarding and we have never gone home feeling like it was a wasted day. How could it be? What could be better than to be with brothers and sisters in Christ who are ministering to the hurting of the world? Jim and I always are so thankful we are blessed to be able to participate in this monthly clinic. It seems like in reality, we’re the patients and God treats us with the perfect medicines…the smiles and hugs from such sweet and humble people, little boys blowing bubbles and big boys 4-wheeling through the mud. It was a good day.
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