My Nicaraguan Ninevah...

I have a question…do you think God has a sense of humor? Or do you think that sometimes the things God puts before us to do seem to be the very things we said we would never do? Like going to a Spanish speaking country or working with children? I want to share this with you. I took 2 years of Spanish in Junior High…didn’t care for it. It seemed such a waste. So, I switched my language study to 4 years of French and continued on with it in college. It was such a beautiful language and I just knew that someday I would live the romantic life of a Paris bohemian writer, wandering the streets along the Seine, eating crusty bread for breakfast and haunting the art museums. Didn’t work out that way.

Some years back, after our first Global Impact Conference in our church, Jim and I had an opportunity to go on a mission trip to Mexico with a group from our church. I remember as clearly as though it just came out of my mouth, that I told Jim I didn’t want to go. When he asked me why, I told him it was because they spoke Spanish there and I just wasn’t interested in going to a Spanish speaking country. Always a good reason to not go on a mission trip. The trip was cancelled and we went to the inner city of Chicago instead. No problem.

Later, an opportunity came up for me to go to Peru. A lady in our church told me she would pay for my trip if I would go, because she felt strongly that God wanted me to go. I appreciated the offer but turned down the opportunity…they spoke Spanish there. So where am I today? In the heart of Latin America where they speak what???

I will start this off by saying my grandchildren are totally exempt from this next part…and if you know my grandchildren, I’m sure you’ll agree with me for they’re as close to perfect as children can be. And if you don’t know them, you are missing out on one of the greatest delights in life! They’re brilliant, beautiful and should be the standard for all other children…okay, maybe that’s a bit thick, but the point is I love them with every fiber of my being and miss them more than I can put in to words.

That being said, for years, I’ve said I’m not a “kid-person”. Ask our Children’s Minister, Jeanna...there’s no doubt she’ll vouch for the veracity of that statement. As a matter of fact, anyone who knows me even slightly, would probably also attest to that fact. Now, don’t run wild with that. I don’t hate kids…I just prefer to spend the majority of my time with adults versus children. I don’t work with children. I don’t know how to relate to them. I expect them to be polite, well-behaved and respectful. I expect Stepford children. My father lived by the adage that children should be seen and not heard and I think that saying went to the grave with him because it’s certainly not in practice today. The problem is, (with the exception of my perfect grandkids, of course), I find most children aren’t like that. So, the way I have always dealt with that is not to. I avoid kids and I avoid working with kids. It’s a simple plan that has been very effective. Until now. Until God said, “Guess what? Missions for you right now is more than just going to a Spanish speaking country, Lynne, it’s working with kids.” Is He kidding me??? Nope.
So, Jim and I began our work out at the school at Los Cedros. If I’ve learned anything at all about God, it’s that when He makes His word clear in our lives, we better not just be listening but also, “doing”. So, currently, Los Cedros is consuming much of our time and many of our conversations. Although we’re at the school just two days a week, it takes a lot of time to prepare our lessons…first in English for ourselves and then in Spanish for clarification for the students. Our Spanish-English dictionaries are never far from our reach. We often discuss what the best way is to handle whatever the child-challenge of the moment happens to be.

Jim is teaching an agricultural class with the 4th through the 6th grade students. He has been teaching them the fundamentals about plants and they are now getting ready to actually start working their garden plots. Because we’re in the dry season here, the ground is as hard as concrete. Jim has been putting water on the area, but it hasn’t seemed to help much. Of course, there are no roto-tillers or garden tractors, just picks and shovels…and oxen. We found out yesterday that a team of oxen was brought to the school to break up the ground. I hate it that we weren’t there…I would have loved to have seen that. I have a thing for the oxen. There is so much power in those massive animals harnessed in their hand-hewn yokes. I remember the definition of meekness our former pastor had used…power under control. It’s hard to picture oxen as meek but they are definitely powerful creatures that respond quickly and quietly to their master’s commands…if only I would learn to do the same.

I’m supposed to be teaching English to 1st through 6th graders. I don’t think that’s happening as yet. I am not a children’s teacher. I love to lead women’s studies. I have a compassionate heart for hurting women. I love to encourage people in their marriages and to help them discover what God’s word says about the issues they are facing in their lives. I was sure that “resume” would keep me out of children’s ministry.

When I was growing up, I dreamed of being a teacher. I would have school on my front porch and I must say, I was a pretty good educator. I would give pop quizzes, bandage boo-boos, have spelling bees and quiet, peaceful story times. Naturally, I gave lots of hugs as any teacher worth her salt should...remember, those were the days when such things were not only permissible, but encouraged. Of course, my dolls and stuffed animals were all brilliant students and not a single one of them would jump up, yell, throw things, roll on the floor or do an impromptu tackle of a passing buddy. And even if the thought might have flitted through their little stuffed brains or shiny, vinyl heads, they wouldn’t have dared…my, how times have changed!

I think what I really must have wanted to do was to have an office supply store! I’m not quite sure how, but I think I must have confused straightening, organizing and color-coding reams of paper, packages of pens, mountains of colored folders, stacks of stickers and cases of spiral notebooks with fending off approximately 140 + unruly and unwilling students. Thankfully, the preschool and kindergarten do not have English class as part of their curriculum. Whatever…this isn’t exactly what I had dreamed of oh, so many years ago. I will say that as we are finishing up our first month at the school, things are getting a bit better…or else I’m getting a little quicker…not sure which. Regardless, I’m still drawing breath and I plan on returning for the next round.

The students are from a poorer community. And, I’m learning that my expectations have had to change quite a bit. The children don’t spell well in their own language and apparently, that isn’t as important as it once was when dinosaurs walked the earth. I’m finding I’m correcting spelling in two languages…one of which I don’t even have a firm grasp of yet. What a way to take a crash course in Spanish!

Typically, children’s ages are within a year or two of each other for each grade. Not so here. In my 1st grade class, I have 21 students, ages 5 through 9; 2nd grade has 19 students, ages 6 through 8; 3rd grade has 27 students, ages 7 through 13; 4th grade has 28 students, age 8 through 14; 5th grade has 28 students, ages 8 through 15 and 6th grade has 19 students, ages 10 through 17. Those are some large spans to cover in terms of dealing with egos, issues and hormones, let alone just trying to teach the basics of a language they really don’t care to learn.

Unfortunately, what I spend a great deal of time doing, although less now than a few weeks ago, is teaching basic acceptable behavior in a classroom. Here, life seems to radiate from a central point of noisy chaos. Right now, my focus is to lower the decibels a bit to a somewhat quieter level of chaos, if there is such a thing. The next step will be a little less activity and a little more attention. Ideally, by the time this year is over, we’ll have progressed to actually knowing some English and be able to demonstrate basic classroom comportment. Ideally.

What has not changed from those early years of my make-believe school are the hugs. Given and received. Freely and often, unexpectedly…given and received. It’s in those moments, when I am ready to choke out-of-control Carlos, Denzel or Maria that God is faithful to close my ears and open my eyes so that I see the uncombed hair, the ripped and dirty shirt, the ill-fitted shoes and the terribly thin little arms. It’s when class has ended and I’m so ready to leave, that I get a tight hug from Carlos, Denzel and Maria…and I find myself giving it back in return.

These children have rebellious spirits. I understand that. I have one myself. They don’t like authority. I get that. They feel like they’re going to explode sometimes. I identify. Their screams and shouts are nothing more than just crying out for someone to notice them, to love them. That’s me and I would imagine, you. We all do it…we just may do it differently. They have empty places in their homes and in their hearts. I remember all too well how that feels. I think maybe that’s why God has put these children before me as my current mission field. I get it. I want them to have better. I want them to live better. I want them to learn. But most of all, I want their empty places filled. I want them to know Jesus. And thankfully, when I fear my supply of love is going to run short, God reminds me His is endless and He will do the loving…I’m just to be the flesh in which it is demonstrated. It’s a hard mission field in so many ways…much like Jim’s garden plot area. I have to quit trying to break the soil myself and just step back and trust God to prepare the soil for the seeds He calls me to plant.

A word to the wise…don’t dictate to God where you will or won’t go. Don’t tell Him what your strengths or spiritual gifts are and where you can best use them. Don’t be so arrogant as to pick and choose what your “ministry” will be. Otherwise, you’re still operating out of your own strength. I believe with all my heart, based on my own current personal experience, that God will use your dislikes, your prejudices, your fears, your weaknesses, and your ignorance to point you to your Ninevah. Most likely, it's not going to be the place and the people you want to serve. There’s no point in fighting His direction...after all, who wants to be a whale’s human hair ball?