Yes, Lord...

Today’s our anniversary…we’ve been here for one year as of today. I thought I would feel a great sense of accomplishment when this day came. I don’t. I feel tired and unsure of so many things. Earlier tonight, Jim asked me what I felt about this first year. Bless his heart, he never should have asked. Actually, I feel so much more than I have words and you know me…I have a lot of words. That question has brought a lot of reflection and a flood of emotions to me this evening.

It’s been a good year and it’s been one of the most difficult years I’ve experienced. It’s been hard physically, emotionally and spiritually. It’s been frustrating and frightening. It’s been a year of unanswered questions, unrealized hopes, burst bubbles and raw realities. It’s been one of the longest and loneliest years I think I’ve ever lived through. But that being said, it’s not been without its moments of great joy and satisfaction, moments of immense privilege and moments of blessed assurance. Those have been brief. I suppose that’s to be expected as valleys are much broader than mountain tops.

There have been times we’ve both asked if we heard God correctly…maybe we should have gone to Budapest…maybe it would have been easier. I think probably, in many respects it would have. We wouldn’t have a lot of the concerns we have being “independent” missionaries but I don’t think that’s where God called us. I don’t think we would have learned in Budapest the things we’ve learned about ourselves here. They’ve not necessarily been pretty things but they have been necessary. We’re still learning.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m stumbling around in the dark with my ears plugged, my voice gone and my hands tied…and I’m scared. I want to see what’s ahead of me. I want to hear God’s voice, so clear, so loud and so God-marked that I have no doubts as to what He wants next from me. I want to cry out that I need someone to lead me by the hand in this missionary mine-field that I’ve stumbled upon.

The faith answer to that little tirade is trust God’s Truth, not my feelings. I don’t know if you have conversations with God in your head or not, but I do. His response to that last paragraph goes something like this…

“Are you really in the dark, Lynne?”

“No…but I feel like it sometimes.”

“Okay…but ARE you?”

“No.”

“And obviously, your ears aren’t plugged…you just heard Me, didn’t you? You hear Me speak to you through my Word, through your daily devotion, through your music, through others, in your head like now…you hear Me, Lynne. I know you do. Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“I hear you, too. You’ve not lost your voice.”

“Okay…it’s just that…well, it’s just that I feel so uncertain about, well, about everything.”

“That’s okay. You only have to be certain of Me. I’ll take care of the rest. As far as your hands being tied…the only thing tying your hands are those invisible cords of fear you’ve wrapped around your own wrists. They’ll fall off when you start walking again with Me in faith, I promise. Don’t worry about keeping step with anyone else…walk with Me.”

“Okay.”

“You want to know what’s ahead of you? You already know…it’s spending eternity with Me. I won’t show you what you think is the future. You’re struggling with your present. But, I will tell you that what I want you to hear from Me, clearly, loudly and without a doubt that it’s direction straight from Me and that is that I want you to love Me with every fiber of your being and if you do that, the rest will be revealed to you as you need it.”

“Okay, I hear you.”

“As far as that whole stumbling in to a missionary mine-field thing? Since you started following Me, you haven’t stumbled anywhere that I haven’t caught you, have you?”

“No.”

“Well, why would I fail you now?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Okay then. Remember that. One more thing…you didn’t stumble in to this…I brought you here. That’s enough for you to know right now. I’ve given you the ability to see the big things in the little things…don’t quit looking. I’m here. I haven’t left. You’re not alone. I love you.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“There…that’s what I’ve been waiting to hear. Now go to bed. It’s late. Rest. Rest in me.”

“Yes, Lord. Thank you…for everything. I love you, too. Good night.”

Celebrating life...

Yesterday was Kenet’s 9th birthday party and what a celebration it was! Jim and I picked Miguel up at the church he works at in Managua at 2:00 and we all headed to Tipitapa. We went to Miguel’s house so he could change out of his work clothes and so we could pick up Elizabeth. Upon our arrival, we were pleasantly surprised to see Elizabeth’s Abuelita (“little grandmother”) sitting out back talking to Miguel’s mother. We received the usual hugs and kisses and then had a seat while we waited on Miguel to change.

It was noticeably quiet in the pelibuey pen. We knew that Mama Pelibuey had been butchered for the birthday dinner. It was sad as the baby pelibuey was out loose in the back yard and Elizabeth said she had been crying all day for her mama…it looked like Elizabeth had shed a few tears herself. The pelibueys were her pets but she said they couldn’t afford to feed both of them anymore. Knowing the facts behind the decision didn’t make it any easier.

Miguel’s mother had decided not to go to the party, which was being held at Kenet’s house. Evidently, she hadn’t been feeling well all day, saying her stomach was upset and she felt dizzy from her diabetes. No one seemed too terribly concerned so I’m guessing this isn’t the first time she’s complained of those symptoms. The rest of us got in the car and Miguel directed us to Kenet’s house.

The family lives in a poorer neighborhood. We walked around to the back of the house and I was surprised to see a fairly good-sized back yard. There was already a fair gathering of people and the trees had balloons and streamers tied around them. A piñata hung from a suspended wire just begging to be whacked. The music was loud and the smoke thick from the borrowed barbecue grill that was heating up in anticipation of searing some freshly butchered pelibuey. I didn’t get to see the “firing up” process of the grill but Jim did. He said that they were using wadded up pieces of plastic to get the little chunks of charcoal started. That’s got to be good and healthy…

As soon as Kenet saw us, he came over and gave us big hugs. We handed him his present, all neatly wrapped in a great big bag. When I had asked him awhile back what he would really like to have for his birthday, he said a remote control car. Everyone had told him they were very expensive so I don’t think he expected one. Jim and I managed to find one at a reasonable price and were so excited to know that we could give this little guy what he had hoped for. Of course, Jim had to test it out at our house to make sure it worked okay…or so he said. He tormented the big kitties with it and once he elicited arched backs and venomous hisses from the three of them, he was satisfied. I had to gently remind him the car wasn’t his to play with! Thankfully, he gave it up so that Kenet was able to have his present after all.

I know the RC car was the big gift but I also know that Kenet gets so bored just sitting around and his lack of endurance doesn’t allow him much opportunity to actually get out and play. I had asked him one day if he liked “rompecabezas” (puzzles) and he had said yes. So, I made him a book filled with dot-to-dots, mazes, color-by-numbers, word-finds (in Spanish) and some Hidden Picture pages out of the Highlights magazines. There were about 30 different puzzles. We also gave him a box of colored pencils, a little pencil case with pencils, a sharpener and a matching eraser. I had found a novelty eraser that looked like a little truck and also put in a package of stickers. Not big stuff but fun stuff.

Kenet took the bag and went to set it inside the house. We were ushered over to one of two tables set up and covered with tablecloths. The other table had Miguel's dad and some of his brothers...a patriarchal table. No one was sitting at our table...it had been reserved for us. Once again, without understanding why, we were the honored guests. That’s an uncomfortable position in which to be placed. We would have preferred to just be able to sit at the back of the crowd, but that wasn’t going to happen. After awhile, the stares weren’t quite so disconcerting and smiles were even returned.

The children were bored and restless and the smell of food cooking only made sitting still that much more torturous for the little ones. Eventually, a woman stood up and took a microphone that was hooked up to a couple of small speakers. A microphone wasn’t necessary in that small space, but I don’t think you could have pried it out of her hands. She is a member of the church that Kenet’s mother goes to. The woman basically began preaching. And she preached for a long time!

There were several songs sung and then Kenet’s mother spoke. It was so touching. She thanked God for preserving Kenet’s life and re-told the story of his illness and what the doctors said two months ago…that there really wasn’t much more they could do. She told how many people were praying for Kenet, all their friends and family and there were even people in the United States praying. She then thanked us for the help we have given them. She told that we had helped them with a stroller when Kenet was so weak he couldn’t walk, that we had helped them with food and money and that when the church could no longer afford to help them buy the Pediasure that Kenet is using as a nutritional supplement, that we stepped in and that it was just in time as they had no “milk” left. She said that we helped to buy the food for that party and that it was possible because of our help. She then asked us to stand up and be recognized...and we were met with applause. Unbelievable.

I can’t even begin to tell you how Jim and I felt at that moment. None of those things were big things to us. They were just needs that were brought before us and that we felt God wanted us to help with. We didn’t do it…folks like you who support us did that. It wasn’t our generosity, it was yours. We didn’t need to stand up…you do. And we applaud you. You are making a difference here, you really are. I wish you could feel the hugs yourselves, hear the words of appreciation and see the faces filled with gratitude. I wish you could see the sparkle of life in Kenet’s eyes again. Honestly, it is so humbling and so motivating. It makes us pray even more fervently that we not miss where it is God wants us to help next.

Back to the party…as if that speech weren’t enough, it was Kenet’s turn…of course, using the microphone! He had written his little speech and thanked everyone for coming and for their prayers and then again, thanked us. The speeches were touching…the hugs, priceless!

The pastor’s wife then prayed over Kenet and then it was the pastor’s turn to preach a while. After that, Miguel’s oldest daughter from his first marriage, Esther, sang a song. It vaguely addressed God but was much more of a secular pop song. The crowd seemed to enjoy it.

At long last, it was Piñata time!!!! The kids were so excited they could hardly stand still. Of course, Kenet got the first whacks but he quickly tired and had to sit down. Then the other children all took turns, repeatedly beating the blue bunny over and over again. I began to think they had the Energizer Bunny swinging from that pulley. Finally, the kids managed to whack it hard enough that they eventually beat it down almost to the ground. Once it burst open and the candy fell, it was a madhouse. We laughed and laughed at those kids scrambling for their sweet treats. Was it over? Nope…out came piñata #2 and the whole scenario was re-played. Finished? No…one more to go…there were 3 piñatas at this celebration! When I asked why so many piñatas, Elizabeth told me that it was such a special time…celebrating not just Kenet’s birthday but also his “strong life”. Those three piñatas were a great expense to the whole family but it was a visual expression of how grand a celebration this really was. I understood it really was a special time.

After the candy had all been snatched up, it was time for dinner. Eddy, a friend of Miguel’s and a young man we had met previously, was the official cook for the celebration. He had been cooking all day for the crowd of around fifty people. (We were introduced to each and every one of them!) Miguel and Elizabeth donated the pelibuey and we donated the rest of the food except the cake. There was grilled pelibuey, Arroz a la Valenciana (rice, chicken, hot dogs, ketchup, chilies, carrots, onion, garlic), tostones (shredded fried platano cakes), ensalada (shredded cabbage and tomatoes), salsa (tomatoes, garlic and onion) and of course, tortillas. Coca-cola was the beverage served.

Okay…I know you’re curious…you want to know how pelibuey tastes. It was actually pretty good. The first two bites I had I think were of one of the internal organs…don’t want to think about it. The taste was a bit strong and the texture reminded me of liver. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to finish it all but bite 3 and on, were good. The flavor and texture more like beef and although it was a bit tough, it was really pretty tasty. Miguel didn’t put ensalada on our plates as he knew we wouldn’t eat the untreated cabbage, but the thought never crossed his mind regarding the same for the tomatoes. As with all foods eaten at celebrations like that, Jim and I pray that God will protect us from any adverse reactions and so far, that’s been the case. We really tested Him this time as our sodas had ice made from city water…it will be awhile before we see if He covered us on that one or not. If not, we figure there’s medicine for things like that and it’s just part of living here.

It was then time for the cutting of the cake. The wind had come up a bit so the children all made a circle around the cake so that the candles would stay lit. The next battle was trying to keep the children from blowing out the candles before Kenet could! Finally, it all went as it should and the children were lined up ready for their cake. One little guy just couldn’t wait for the actual cutting and serving of it. Jim caught him with the camera pinching off a piece…the other adults weren’t so quick and he got a good little bit of it before he was ushered away.

Throughout the celebration, Kenet would come over to us periodically and just spontaneously give us hugs. At one point, I asked him if he had opened his present…I know that is something that typically is done after everyone has gone home. Of course, he shook his head “no”. I asked him if he wanted to go ahead and do it and he said that he did. I told him that it was fine with me and that I wanted him to go open his present. He raced in to the house and was gone for a bit. The next thing I knew, I was just about knocked out of my chair as he threw his arms around my neck and squeezed so tight I wondered if I was taking my last breath. “Gracias, Gracias, Gracias!” he kept saying. His joy at receiving the unexpected was off the chart! I hugged him back, kissed his forehead and told him he was welcome. I asked him if it was the right thing. He assured me it was and that he was very, very happy. So was I. Seeing him run and play with excitement like any other kid (who might be wearing a face mask) was the best thanks of all. I’m telling you this child is so special to us and it was an absolute privilege to help make his birthday a day to remember.

It came time for us to go and after we said our good-byes to everyone, we were once again thanked by the family. His mother said they didn’t know what they would have done if we had not helped at the times we did. Although she was very grateful we helped with the food costs for the party, she was most appreciative for the Pediasure. I understand that. I can’t imagine the desperation she must have felt when the church told her they couldn’t afford to keep buying the Pediasure…and they really couldn’t. It’s very expensive by Nica-standards but that mom knows that her child’s life is worth every centavo. The medical system here is set up so that they can get free medical care but unless a doctor gives the medication themselves, then the people have to buy it. Most can’t.

She has had some hard days the last six months. Her faith has wavered, the questions have mounted, the money has run out, the family has been hungry and Kenet was given a death sentence. What we have told Miguel repeatedly and what we had him pass on to his sister is that God is faithful in all things and that He is sovereign. His mercies are new every morning. Kenet has made it to his ninth birthday and for that we celebrate. But we know God can take him through number 10 and we’ll do what we can on our end, if possible, to make that happen. Please join us in praying for God to completely heal Kenet of this cancer and rejoice with us in this moment…if you have a blue bunny…whack it!

Disclaimer for all animal rights activists…I should have said if you have a paper maché blue bunny. I am not advocating through the writing of this blog, the harming of any animal, blue or otherwise.

That should suffice...I would hate to be hit with a bunny suit! (I can hear the groans from here!)

Music hath charms...

This culture may fall short on some things, but when it comes to celebrating Mothers…they do it up right! Of course, there is a Mother’s Day but more than that, the entire month of May is dedicated to honoring Mothers. It’s a big deal, believe me.

The school is having a big celebration for their mothers the end of May and Pastora told me she wanted all the children to sing a song in English at the program. She said it was a tradition, that all the other English teachers had done it before me (at that moment, I wondered if that was one of the reasons I was teacher number 5…) and that I could choose any song I wanted. Sure. No problem. I still haven’t gotten over the shock that God has me working with children in this capacity…now I have to teach them a song in English!?!?!? Trust me when I say that’s a head-scratcher…

There are definitely problems with this whole scenario. To begin with, a dog howling at my vocals sounds better than I do when I try to sing. The closest I come to playing a musical instrument is pushing the buttons on my MP3 player and speakers. Plus, the kids are not super motivated to learn greetings in their English classes…I can’t imagine how this is going to fly. Then, there’s the logistics of trying to get all six classes to sing together when three classes attend in the morning and three in the afternoon.

God patiently listened to my whining…once again…and then told me to get with it. So, I did a lot of internet surfing trying to find the perfect song for the kids. I finally found a very simple, basic song for “M-O-M-M-Y” using the tune to the children’s song B-I-N-G-O. I thought it would be fun for the kids to sing and I thought it was simple enough that they could learn the words. The kids in first, second and third all seemed to catch on to it pretty well the first time we went through it. Now, it’s just a matter of enunciation and timing on the clapping…these kids abound with enthusiasm so they’re a little hard to restrain when it’s time to put their palms together! It’s too fun to be frustrating.

But, it’s a song for little ones…how were the bigger kids going to react to it? I decided if I was going to go insane over the next few weeks, I might as well do it in a big way. I took a vote in the 3 older grades, asking them if they wanted to sing with the younger kids or if they wanted a more grown-up song. Well, duh… So, the next vote was they had to choose between a song for their mothers or a song for God. Surprisingly enough, a song for God was the winner and the kids all seemed really excited about it. That was going to make it easier. I have Christian music on the MP3 plus several CDs that had been sent down as gifts. I was starting to be a bit encouraged…maybe this could actually happen. So, by my own doing, I’m trying to teach two different songs in a “foreign” language to these kids. Did you hear that? I thought I heard a heavenly chuckle…

One of my favorite songs is a song written by a contemporary Christian band out of Belfast, Ireland called Bluetree. The band is not that well-known, I suppose, but one of their songs is a tremendous hit, thanks to Chris Tomlin. “God of this City” is a song that touches a part of my heart that just goes raw every time I hear it. Of course, it’s a perfect “missions” song as it applies to every mission field there is. The message of the song is that God is God of “this” city, King of “these” people, Lord of “this” nation. That truth is the truth Jim and I hold on to at our darkest times here. If we didn’t believe that, we couldn’t stay here. But we do and here we are. We know that song is every missionary’s song for their people group in their nation. It’s so great that God’s Truth is big enough for us all to claim…

There are two versions to this song. Bluetree’s version is amazing and I love the complete lyrics but Chris Tomlin’s is much shorter and that is the one I have on CD. So, I thought I would play it for the kids and see what they thought. I translated the lyrics in to Spanish and printed them off in both languages for the 3 older grades. Although they have to sing the song in English, I want them to know the significance of what they’re singing.

I took the cd player and the cd with me to school on Thursday. I have to admit I was a bit apprehensive as to how the kids would receive it. My first class in the afternoon is 5th grade. There are 25 students in this class, ages 10 – 16. The kids liked it okay…and made a fair attempt at trying to sing along….all wanted to sing it in Spanish. I think they’re missing the idea that the English teacher is supposed to teach them a song to sing in English…oh, well. It wasn’t awful but it wasn’t great, either.

Usually, I have a break and then go to fourth grade but because it was Book Day, the school schedule was not as normal. As a result, as soon as I finished with fifth grade, I had to go over to the sixth grade. When I walked in, they were pretty high energy. But, Douglas, my beloved pain in the neck, saw the CD player and immediately wanted to be in charge of it. He was determined to figure it out himself and didn’t want much help. I passed out the lyrics and explained the song to the kids while keeping one eye on Douglas growling at anyone else who dared to come near the CD player. I worried about how it was going to fare and even more so, how the CD would survive. But, I was so encouraged that he wanted to be helpful that I just prayed God would protect the fragile little disk and the player. As always, God was faithful and Douglas managed to get it going without my feared catastrophe.

You know that saying, “music hath charms to soothe the savage breast” that has been revised to say, “music hath charms to soothe the savage beast”? Well, whatever bent you prefer, it’s true! Within seconds after starting the music, the kids were quiet. Some of them came up close to better hear the music. They listened carefully to the song and when it came to an end, I asked them if they liked it, yes or no. I received a resounding yes. And then, Tony, the other ringleader of the class, said softly, but firmly, that it was beautiful. My heart almost leapt out of my chest! These kids liked it…they really liked it! So, we played it again…and again…and again…and again…and again. We talked about the pronunciation of the words, the significance of the song, the beauty of the music and I was assured by that class, hands down, that they could learn it and were excited to sing it.

During one of the times we played the song, I realized almost every student was on the floor, around the CD player, singing the lyrics as best they could at that moment. Jim was taking some pictures of them when all of a sudden, they were singing in perfect harmony. It was absolutely beautiful…and unbelievably stirring. My eyes filled with tears and I looked at Jim just in time to see him wiping his eyes. Tony and Douglas looked up to see us both overcome by the beauty of that amazing moment and all I could do was smile…both smiled in return. I started to say the moment was magical…it was better than that…the Holy Spirit was filling that room and we were acutely aware of His presence. The kids that have absolutely run me ragged were singing praises to our God…I don’t know of any better way to bond hearts than in worship to our Almighty Lord and Savior.

Our time in that class ended way too quickly. Wow! I never thought I would say that… It was time to go to 4th grade. As we were going in to the classroom, I realized Douglas was walking in with me and taking the CD player out of my hand. He and Tony had come with us to the 4th grade class. Tony helped me explain how the lyrics were repeated while Douglas got the CD player plugged in and ready to go. I was just in awe at the transformation of those two boys. I am not so foolish as to think that behavior is permanent, but neither am I not going to cherish those moments of cooperation and assistance. I love being on the mountain…

How quickly those mountain tops can flatten out and you find yourself feeling like Gumby down in the valley. The 4th grade class is a large class like 5th grade. The kids were excited initially but the novelty of having music in class quickly wore off. Luis, the 6th grade teacher evidently realized that Tony and Douglas were missing and he came and retrieved them for his own class. I hated to see them leave…at that moment, they were the proverbial wind beneath my own raggedy wings.

There were some in 4th grade who were interested but most preferred to play their air guitars or wail sounds at the top of their voice. Volume evidently trumps clarity. When I asked if they would prefer to do the M-O-M-M-Y song with the little kids, I got a resounding “NO!” Oh, well. We have a month and if we get to have all our classes, that means we may get 10 more opportunities to practice. We’ll see what happens. This may be the year that tradition changes.

I’ve pretty much come to the conclusion that if I can get the 19 sixth graders plus the few in the 4th and 5th grade that are really interested, to learn the song well, that maybe that will be enough to carry the others through. Besides, Moms don’t really care if little Juan Carlos or Maria José can carry a tune or remember the lyrics. They just care that it’s evident to everyone else that their child is the star performer. That’s a fact. It’s true with my grandchildren, it was true with my own girls and I’m sure it was true with my mom. That’s why Nicaragua has it right in regards to Mothers…they deserve a month of their own to be honored.

Miguel and Elizabeth...

I want to update you on the situation with Miguel and Elizabeth. Miguel is the young man I tutor in English two days a week and Elizabeth is his wife. Many of you are familiar with their story and there are three folks from Cassville who have had the privilege of meeting them. They are a very special couple to us and we recently were given the opportunity to share God’s Word with them and what it says in regards to marriage.

Like most couples here, staying together seems to be a challenge for them and trying to keep them together is certainly a challenge for us. Much like folks in the U.S., neither of them are thrilled to take responsibility for their own failures yet are quick to point their finger at the other. I love Miguel to pieces and would do anything for him. But, I’m not blind to his faults. And Elizabeth is like a little child in so many respects that my maternal instincts fairly jump to her defense…but she is not without blame for their problems.

Counseling folks who are rooted in their own beliefs that conflict with God’s Word is not always a pleasant task in my native tongue. Trying to do it in a language in which I barely manage to make myself understood at the grocery store is a real challenge. Toss in the cultural differences and this counseling thing definitely takes on an interesting bent. There are times I want to just shout, “Are you kidding me?” when I hear of so-called offenses that I deem silly yet I realize if the shoe was on the other foot, I’m sure our culture has the potential to seem just as foolish in certain practices to many others in the world. The saving grace in this, literally, is that God’s Word cuts through all that. His truth is universal and timeless. How amazing is that? I am so thankful that God’s ways are different than man’s and that His thoughts are higher. That actually has made this process go much more smoothly than anticipated.

The problems Miguel and Elizabeth have are not mine to share. Suffice to say they have had problems from the very beginning of their marriage…Miguel is a Christian, Elizabeth does not yet know Jesus Christ as her Savior. Unequally yoked. That’s explanation enough. We’re praying that we get to see her come in to that relationship with Jesus.

Even though I don’t want to make their personal issues public, I do want to tell you about our day in Tipitapa. After our little encounter with the policeman, we managed to travel problem free to Miguel’s house and safely deliver his dresser. Miguel and Elizabeth live in a house that is maybe 10’ x 12’ maximum. The floor is dirt and the only opening, save for the holes and gaps in the walls and ceiling, is the door…there is no window. To say the house is modest is an exaggeration.

Miguel and Elizabeth share a twin bed, which takes up almost ½ the house…it literally reaches from wall to wall. There is a bright pink mosquito net hanging from the ceiling which surrounds the bed. Although it looks romantic, its purpose is functional. It not only helps keep the voracious mosquitoes at bay, it also is a thin layer of protection at night from the rats that want to lay claim to Miguel’s house, incuding his bed. There is a small dresser right next to their bed which also acts as their t.v. stand. This was Elizabeth's Christmas present that Miguel bought with his year-end bonus money... an obligatory amount by law. He so desperately wants to make their little house a "home" for his wife as that's her desire...a home. The t.v. is kept covered with a towel to try to keep the dust at a minimum. I think the small t.v. might possibly have been used…it’s fairly new to Miguel and Elizabeth but doesn’t look like a new set. Miguel also uses this dresser as a place to put his books, their several towels, plus personal items. There is a small table which holds the gas stovetop we bought for them for Christmas. Is it safe in there? Nope. But neither is it safe outside as it would quickly disappear. Miguel has put some nails in the walls to hang their two pans on. The new dresser was purchased to hold their few clothes plus the few other items they have kept in two small plastic totes on the floor. Another surprise for Elizabeth...and one for which Miguel has been saving for a long time. It fit perfectly in the only place for it. Although, precious floor space was lost, the ability to store things in a dresser was well worth the trade-off.

When we arrived, Kenet, Miguel’s nephew who has cancer, was sitting out back coloring in a color book with some crayons I had sent over to him the week before. He looked great! His hair has grown back in and he’s looking stronger and filling out. His eyes were bright and he was loving and talkative, sticking close by, holding my hand, stroking my arm…white skin is such an attraction and skin as white as mine, is a real curiosity. It was so good to see him acting and looking like any other child – with the exception of wearing the ½ mask and his frequent rest breaks. He would go sit down and stay very still, as if trying to recharge his energy levels. After awhile, he would be up and around again but all too soon, another rest break would be needed. We believe that Kenet’s progress is a direct result of your prayers of intercession for his health…please don’t stop!

We also were welcomed like long lost friends from Miguel’s mother…hugs and kisses and stories of her own health issues. She has diabetes which she treats with oral medication when she has the money to buy it. She’s a determined woman. Although she was still in her gown when we arrived, she was up, cooking and stirring around. One of Miguel’s brothers, Isaiah, was also there with his little boy, Ezekiel. While cordial, Isaiah didn’t have much interaction with us…the novella (soap opera) on the t.v. was much more interesting than the boring gringos. Ezekiel on the other hand, while keeping his distance, followed us everywhere, watching our every move. Every now and then, I am reminded of how different we are at first glance…our skin color, our nationality, our age. I hope that the differences continue to be as obvious to non-believers the more they get to know us…

We spent about an hour at Miguel’s, playing with the kids, playing with the new puppy and kitty, visiting with the family and looking at the soon-to-be butchered mama pelibuey (a cross between a sheep and a goat). This is usually done only at Christmas or the New Year but Kenet has his ninth birthday tomorrow and it will be done in his honor. The doctors have said they’re not sure he will be here to see his 10th. We are praying differently. The family has asked us to attend Kenet’s party and we wouldn’t miss it for anything.

After visiting for awhile, I finally asked Miguel if it would be possible for us to go see Elizabeth. His face revealed every emotion he felt…shock, fear, excitement, anger, hope…and more fear. A man’s pride in this culture is everything. His first response was that he was not going to go ask his wife, who chose to leave him, to come back. I asked him only to do what God would want him to do, not what his culture expected him to do. He said he would think about it and then said he wanted us to stay for lunch. We said we would love to do so. Miguel then disappeared in to his mother’s house for a bit.

We found out later than he had left to go buy chicken so that his guests would have meat to eat. That kind of thing always gets to me. There would not have been chicken that day if we were not there. Buying chicken meant something else wouldn’t be bought. I so desperately wanted to give them the money for the chicken but I wouldn’t offend Miguel or his family for anything and to offer to pay for the lunch we had accepted an invitation to would have been an insult. I also have to be careful to make sure that the family doesn’t see Jim and me as their answer for all their needs…we want this family to depend on God. Upon his return from the market, Miguel said he wanted to take us to Elizabeth. We got in the car, prayed and headed over to her grandmother’s house.

I have tried to write this next part three different times but I can’t do it and still maintain the degree of privacy that I feel is necessary. And obviously, Kodak moments weren't appropriate. There are some things that are just too personal and private to share in such a manner as this. The specific problems and intimacies of a marriage are not meant to be discussed in a public forum. So, I apologize to you for not being able to tell all the details of that visit. Really, I think all that’s necessary to say is that Elizabeth is now back home with Miguel and they seem to be doing well. Both are beginning to recognize their own shortcomings and are working on their communication skills. Yesterday, Miguel told me they have begun reading the Bible together each night and praying together. That is a huge step.

There are moments of our visit to Elizabeth’s grandmother’s house that I do want to share with you. At one point, Jim and I were sitting in the front room of Elizabeth’s aunt’s house which is connected to the grandmother’s house. We were in the middle of a very serious discussion with the aunt and I was sharing God’s word with her on marriage when I felt something at my foot. I glanced down, momentarily distracted from my concentrating on how to translate a certain point to see a scrawny, half-grown, moth-eaten-looking black chicken with a broken string tied around its neck, pecking furiously at my shoe. It took me a few seconds to get my thoughts put back on track but I did manage to stay on task, despite the constant attack on my tennis shoe!

It was so hot in that dirt-floor house and not even a wisp of wind blew through the open door or the single window, but even so, it was hotter out in the searing sun. Sitting in the front room was definitely the better choice. Jim was sitting on a roughly made wooden bench which also served as a table and I had the honor of the one chair that wasn’t broken, a plastic chair…the other one, a rocker, had broken reeds in the seat and the aunt was rocking a crying baby about a year old. Both ends of the child were wet and I imagine he was as miserable as he looked. The room had a few photos on the wall and several pictures that would appeal to children. There was a small t.v. on a wooden table in the corner and a small home-made cage under the table…obviously the chicken’s home. There was a large pan full of dirty dishes sitting on the floor in the kitchen area…their barrio had been without water for three days. The smell of beans burning on the fire out back permeated the house. It seemed to be a Hemingway moment brought to life. Sounds so “so-what” when I try to describe it now. But the thing is, it was just so Nica-like.

Another moment that sticks out in my mind occurred a little later. It is when the grandmother asked me to come in to her house and to speak with Elizabeth. I think the older women all thought I was going to be their last hope in getting Elizabeth to decide to stay there and not to return to Miguel. After all, I was a woman and I understood and even agreed with some of the things they were protesting. Problem was, I wasn’t turning out to be their Great White Hope, after all.

The aunt was standing at the doorway to the small bedroom that Elizabeth and her grand-mother were sharing. The front room was filled with cousins and I think even a neighbor or two might have managed their way in to the group. All talking stopped as I walked through the front room. Jim stood in the front doorway, apprehensive to let me out of his sight. Nicas are very passionate people and it’s not unusual for family arguments to erupt in to some sort of violence.

As Elizabeth and I talked in the tiny room, that thought crossed my mind as the voices out back of the house were beginning to escalate. I can’t say I actually prayed to God at that moment, but I know in my mind I was hoping He would not let me die so hot and sweaty with the next-door chicken pecking at my shoe…I really do hope to have more of a gracefully- swooning-back-on-my-pillow-moment as my last earthly hurrah. God wasn’t ready for such drama from me in either case, obviously, as we all parted ways peaceably, even if not in complete agreement.

Speaking of drama, one of the other things that struck me was in the midst of this live family novella, we were consistently treated as honored guests. Welcomed, hugged, kissed, privy to family stories and family shame, truth and lies…still, I can’t help but wonder what was said as they tearfully watched the Americanos’ green 4-Runner finally leave, taking their beloved Elizabeth away. I know Elizabeth’s heart was broken by the hurtful things said to her as she walked out the door to re-join her husband. I know their hearts were broken watching her leave. I know Miguel’s heart had been broken 10 days earlier.

Love and marriage. Sometimes in Nicaland, it seems like it’s more of a human poker game and it’s all about winning. When there’s separation and division in a marriage or in a family, no one wins. It takes much longer to heal a heart than it does to break it. We’re praying for Miguel and Elizabeth but also, now, for the entire family. All their efforts and all their ploys netted them absolutely nothing. They were a lot like that scrawny little chicken…insistently scratching, pulling and pecking yet not getting a single thing of value to fill the empty space. My goodness, we need God’s wisdom and His guidance to successfully work with this family…and they need Him.

Jesus loves me...

It’s late but I have to share today with you…at least as much of it as I can get down before I fall face forward on to the keyboard…I’m really tired tonight.

Miguel asked us last week if we could help him transport a dresser to his house today so he took the bus in to the church (today was his day off) so we could go pick it up. He has been saving his money for a long time for this purchase. He was picking it up with mixed feelings as he and Elizabeth hadn’t spoken since she left and he had wanted to get the dresser to make their little house (about 10’ x 12’) feel more like a home. Jim and I had been praying that perhaps Miguel would agree to take us to Elizabeth’s grandmother’s house so we could try to talk to her. He was a bit rattled when he got off the bus as it was running late and he was worried we wouldn’t wait for him. I decided to wait until a bit later to approach the subject of going to see Elizabeth.

Miguel gave us directions to the furniture “store”…as we drove in unfamiliar territory, the realization hit Jim and me at the same time that we were starting in to the Oriental Market, reputed to be the most dangerous market in Central America. True or not, I wasn’t happy with our surroundings. We were just on the fringes of it but even so, neither one of us felt very safe being there. This is one of those places that we’ve been warned by every person we have met, Nicas and Americans, that we are to avoid. And where did we find ourselves? Naturally…

I’m sure it was my imagination but I felt like we might as well have had a loudspeaker attached to our car announcing that it was being commandeered by gringos! We got lots of stares and even people stepping out in to the street by the car to try to get us to stop at their little stalls. It was so congested. I told Miguel I didn’t like being there and he said we were just driving through that area to get to the place we needed to be. As far as I was concerned, we couldn’t get through it fast enough.

We finally found the furniture place…things must look different from the back seat of a car versus on foot as it took Miguel some time to get his bearings. No exaggeration, we went around one block 5 times! But find it we did and thankfully, there was a place to park right by it. Even though it wasn’t right in the Market, it was close enough to it that we felt we needed to be extra aware of our surroundings. I contemplated staying in the car with the doors locked but that thought only lasted about 3 seconds…there was furniture to look at! Even if I wasn’t buying any, it still fell under the category of shopping and we get to do so little of that these days that I just couldn’t resist. So, out I jumped with my purse held in a death grip under my arm and began walking with Miguel…giving my opinion on various items and asking how things were made and how much they cost. I don’t think the owner was too thrilled with my questions but he wasn’t sure I wasn’t going to buy anything so he tolerated my nosiness.

Miguel got his dresser and was thrilled. He chose a green Formica upright dresser mainly based on its size and the finish. It wasn’t something I would have necessarily chosen but I think it fit his parameters - it was the right size and it would be much easier to wipe down than a wood-finished dresser. The floor in Miguel’s house is dirt. Thankfully, we were able to fit his new purchase in the back of the car and leave one of the split back seats up so he didn’t have to ride all crunched up all the way to Tipitapa.

The next hurdle was to find our way out of that area without going back through the Market. Miguel asked directions and off we went. The problem with someone who doesn’t drive giving directions is they rarely tell you when to turn until you’re already halfway through the intersection. Poor Jim. Miguel was giving directions in Spanish and I was translating…that didn’t expedite anything. We had to turn around several times to get to the right road.
Jim asked Miguel which lane we needed to be in and he told us the left lane. Jim complied. But then, as we’re sitting at the light, several cars back and with our blinker on, Miguel suddenly decided we needed to be in the right lane. He asked Jim to roll down his back window so he could ask the guy in the car next to us. The guy confirmed we needed to switch to the right lane so we could go straight through the light.

Jim was going to go ahead and turn left and try to find a place to turn around but Miguel told him it was okay to go ahead and go straight. I looked behind us and the car was turning so Jim had the opportunity to change to the right lane. As we finished going through the intersection, what should our eyes behold but one of Managua’s finest motioning for us to pull over. Jim and I just groaned. We both knew exactly what the infraction was going to be and we deserved it. Oh, well. The officer was well within his rights to stop us and to write us a ticket and we were ready to receive it.

Miguel had Jim roll his window down again and thus began the interchange between Miguel and the officer. Of course, it was an exercise in debate with Jim’s license being firmly held by the officer. Miguel kept telling the officer that it was his fault that we crossed in to the other lane as he was telling us what to do and where to go. The officer said that Jim was going to get a ticket and we said we understood and we told Miguel it was okay. Miguel argued with us saying it wasn’t okay. He wanted us to “pay” the officer then instead of going to the bank as we would have to do. We told Miguel “no” that we wouldn’t pay the officer to keep from getting the ticket and that it was going to be okay. Miguel was distraught. We were fine.

The officer kept talking with Miguel, asking where we had bought the dresser, where we were going, where he lived, where we lived, if we spoke Spanish, and so on. I understood enough that I realized Miguel wasn’t getting anywhere. All of a sudden, the officer, who had already begun writing the ticket and had not smiled one time, handed Jim back our documents and his license. He told us that he wasn’t going to give us a ticket after all. We were stunned...but pleased and relieved.

We thanked him, put our things away and our moment came. The one we have been waiting for…the one I had told Mandy about last week. I was almost ready to burst with excitement. See, we have several little baggies already made up and put in our glove box. They’re our Policia Bags. Each baggie has a tract, an ink pen and 100 cordobas stuck in between the pages of a Gospel of John (of course, in Spanish). I reached in and grabbed one and handed it to Jim to give to the officer. The policeman was watching us very warily, not sure what we were up to. But the officer broke into a great smile when we told him we had a small gift for him. I asked him his name and he told me and thanked us for the baggie. He was looking at the pen. He would have been blessed simply by getting it. I told him we would pray for him and he thanked us. It was such a great moment but Jim was about to take it up a notch.

Jim showed the officer the money tucked in the Gospel and the look on his face was priceless! His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened twice their size. He couldn't believe it. He touched the money through the baggie in awe. Jim told him it was to help buy food for his family. He was astounded! I hope I never forget that face…it was the epitome of how we all should be when we realize how great the unmerited gift we have received in our salvation. That look…it made my day because we had made his with the equivalent of a $5.00 bill.

It was such an upside-down moment. Most folks give the police money to keep from getting a ticket. We had already planned that the next time we were stopped, we would wait until we had received our ticket before giving the policeman any money. We wanted to bless the guy not bribe him. So today, when we thought we were going to have our first opportunity to do so, he ended up giving us Jim's license back! We were not to be derailed from our plan though...it was too good to not follow through with it! So, we gifted the policeman after our business was through so there would be no mistake that it was a blessing from the Lord and not a plea from us for leniency.

We were on cloud nine as we pulled away, asking God to bless the officer and his family. Our goodbyes were more like friends saying farewell instead of pulling away from a traffic stop. I’m sure he was floating around on his own cloud and could hardly wait to go home to share his story with his family. We are praying he will take the time to read the Gospel and the tract…we know he’ll carry the ink pen and I hope it will remind him of that moment every time he uses it. It has printed on it, “Jesus te ama” - “Jesus loves you”. His love caught that officer by surprise today and we were all blessed by it.

Miguel was speechless. He apologized for his part in our getting stopped and I told him it wasn't his fault and there wasn't a problem...that it was good. He just shook his head. I know he sometimes thinks we're crazy. And maybe we are...but being crazy like this just can't be beat because God blesses us every time we think we're blessing someone else...wish you could have seen that officer's face...

It’s late and tomorrow is a school day so I’m quitting for tonight. I’ll share about our visit to Tipitapa later in the week. G’night.

Highs and lows...

This has been a month of highs and lows. I suppose that statement alone should tell me that indicates I’ve probably not done a very good job of keeping my eyes on the Lord, huh? When I fail to allow the Holy Spirit to be in control of my emotions and actions, I know I can easily react to my circumstances instead of responding to them which allows a potential high to sometimes become a low. I wish I could say that even so, my reactions were always godly…honestly, they’re not.

Low…We fly back to the states 7 weeks from today…the mirror, along with other obvious signs, tells me I’m not ready. I worked very hard for 9 months to lose weight in order to meet the IMB’s standards but when Jim and I knew that we were to come here instead of Budapest, well, my work quit. Why, oh, why did I ever think that it wouldn’t take hard work to keep the weight off? I love the food here and it loves me! Without a doubt, it’s a carb-lover’s paradise. Add that to the fact that I'm an emotional eater and this has been a year of tremendous emotions...the weight gain is no surprise. There is no doubt I've reacted instead of responded.

In order for me to lose weight and to maintain that weight loss, I need daily exercise and a much higher ratio of protein and fresh veggies to carbs…not happening. I can use the excuses of we don't feel comfortable walking in our neighborhood without dogs, and the cost of protein and the work of getting fresh veggies safe to eat for us is just too much…but excuses they are, although each excuse is nicely draped in a thin coat of reality. I love our local bakery, I love tejadas and gallo pinto – especially with crema acida drizzled over the top. I love the way they fix the rice here…fry it first and then boil it – so good! I love their chicken – of course, it’s fried.

Why is it that the women here can eat the same diet and be so stinkin’ skinny? Oh, yeah…I remember. They scrub their clothes on a pila…I throw mine in the washer. They sweep their dirt floors, I have Margarita mop my tile ones. They walk 5 kilometers to the market every day, I walk out to the car. They chase children from morning until night…I chase dreams. They walk to the river to haul a filled 5 gallon bucket home on their head, I ask Jim to go turn on the pump to the water tank. They chase a chicken in order to butcher it, I pull one already butchered out of the fridge. They stand and stir their beans over an open fire, I throw a package of popcorn in the microwave ‘cause it’s too hot to cook. They carry an armload of firewood home after cutting it down with a machete, I turn on my gas stove. They make another trip to the river to bathe, I walk to the bathroom to shower. They entertain themselves by walking arm and arm to the pulperia to buy some masa to make their tortillas, I plop down in front of the television, wasted by the heat. Yeah, I remember why. Low.

High. We had a great week with the kids at school this past week. Every single class on both days went well and the kids were so much fun. They were all in good spirits for the most part and were very interactive. We had good conversations broken by bouts of laughter and teasing. We took lots of pictures of the kids with most of them assuming their favorite poses and their favorite expressions. We played games and struggled to learn the parts of the face and pronouns, adjectives and articles…the games were much more popular. We gave a ton of hugs and received at least that many back. I even got several gifts…one of the girls brought me a much-prized mango from the tree in her yard while one of the fifth-grade boys who lives in the orphanage, gave me a drawing that he made of the guardabarranco, the national bird of Nicaragua. I had someone tell me that we were making a difference at the school…such sorely needed words to hear at the time. We told some of the kids we would be returning to the States in June for a month and they groaned. High.

Low. As great as this past week was, I have to say it followed a couple of very difficult weeks at school. My frustration level with the sixth grade had peaked and I actually left the class early one day, totally exasperated and in tears, wondering how in the world I was ever going to reach those kids. There were 19 children, ages 11-17, in that class who absolutely refused to listen or to obey. Even with Jim trying to settle the kids down, it was a nightmare…the class was crazy. And Luis, the 6th grade teacher, was nowhere in sight. At that moment, I think I might have had a shred of understanding of how Captain Bligh of the 1789 British ship, the Bounty, must have felt when he realized mutiny had broken out…but I doubt if he cried. I did.

One of the students had been blatant in his show of disrespect for me and for the fact he was in a classroom. His behavior was the pits and of course, he fueled the others. He is a hard kid and yet, can be so personable. He’s one of those kids you can’t help but love but there are times that love does not come naturally due to his actions and attitude. There is no doubt, he’s a ringleader and his ambition in life is to cheat, charm and connive his way through it…anything other than putting in work and effort. Why has God planted that boy so firmly in my heart? And why has He made it so difficult to love him?

Although Douglas has challenged me in the past, for whatever reason, that day, he decided to go way past what was acceptable. I asked Jim to take him to the office. Jim was only able to get him outside and Douglas refused to go any further. Instead of things calming down in the classroom, they escalated. I had had enough. I was hot, tired and through. It was time to leave because I knew I was going to start crying. I gathered my things, told the children the class was over and I walked out. I don’t know if all of them were even aware I had left.

When I came out, carrying my school bag and purse, Douglas realized I was leaving. Even though I had my sunglasses on, he could tell I was crying. That was a bit mortifying, believe me. (It gets worse…) Douglas kept calling my name and trying to get me to stop. I finally stopped, turned to him and asked him what it was he wanted. His face was dead serious and his eyes soft and he simply said, “Disculpe. Lo Siento.” “Forgive me. I’m sorry.” My reply, “Mi tambien, Douglas.” “Me, too, Douglas.” And I walked to the car.

Jim went to the office to turn in our keys for the day. It was earlier than the time we normally do that. Jim found Luis sitting with Pastora, the director of the school, and told him that his class was “very bad”. Evidently, Jim’s tone and face made up for his lack of communication skills in Spanish. Luis immediately returned to his class and Pastora made a bee-line over to the car. I expected her to be upset that I was leaving early. Instead, she gave me a hug and began to apologize. Of course, that only made me cry all the harder. I hate sympathy when I’m trying to suck it up. I kept sniffing and told her it was okay and that I was just tired and needed to go home. She just kept talking, rubbing my arm and telling me that she was so sorry. As I looked back up at her, I realized there stood Luis and the entire 6th grade class. They had all walked silently to the car and Luis apologized for his class. The children stood and stared in silence. There. The moment of complete mortification finally had occurred. They must have been curiously drawn to the wacky gringa’s breakdown like we are when we slow down to gawk at an accident. Morbid sites…morbid fascination. I had reacted to the situation instead of responding. Yuk.

We left and Jim was furious. I was sick. I have to say I wasn’t angry but I was absolutely devastated. I kept wondering why I couldn’t seem to have a breakthrough with these kids. I have tried everything to get them to cooperate and at least try to learn English. But they don’t have any interest and they don’t care so they refuse to put out any effort. I felt like I was a train wreck and my efforts in trying to teach these kids were totally wasted. I was sure they not only hated English class, but they hated me. And I cried all the way home while Jim fumed and fussed at their insolence and lack of manners. It was a long ride from Los Cedros that night.

That was on a Tuesday. Thursday, I dreaded going to school. I had been reading my Bible and searching for answers. All I heard from God was, “Learn from Paul.” I was reminded that Paul had to deal with a bit more than hurt feelings and pummeled pride. I wondered how many times he must have thought to himself, “This just isn’t worth it”… I would wager the answer to that would be none. Back to school I went. I would have preferred to stay home and lick my wounds…it wasn’t an option. Low.

High. That morning, Pastora told me that I would only have my first class of the morning as the school was holding its elections for school president during my second and third classes. There were to be speeches, campaign promises and finally the voting. School was then going to be dismissed at lunchtime for the Semana Santa (Holy Week) holiday. I silently thanked God for the reprieve of having to deal with the 6th grade class. Woo-hoo!!

The elections were a hoot! The speeches were brief and to the point. Washington wanna-bes could learn a thing or two from these kids. Children cheered and spirits were high. Campaign posters were everywhere. The voting procedure was simple but a bit delayed as it was taking a lot more time to copy the ballots for all the children. No worry about confusing names of the candidates here…there were picture ballots so that votes could be cast with confidence…if not in confidence. The voting “booth” was the outer office of Pastora which always seemed to have a lot of kids coming and going. There was such an air of festivity about the morning. Jim even received a very quiet one word apology in passing from Douglas that morning…nothing else said, but that was enough. High.

Low. Another “house” is being constructed behind us…right behind us. Immediately, Jim and I both felt apprehension at the thought of folks being so close. And then we felt guilty for feeling that way. We are still trying to get accustomed to the other family who lives out back.
One of the reasons we rented this house was the fact it was open behind us which afforded us some quiet and a respite from our daily “noise” in the city of Managua. Now, it’s more than a sense of quiet that we no longer have, our privacy is also compromised. When someone is standing next to this new construction, they can see right in to our bedroom door that opens on to the deck. Keeping it closed is not an option as the heat would be unbearable in that room without the ventilation of the open door. Our fishbowl has become a little smaller. I knew I was starting to like this house too much. And as if to add insult to injury, we found our new guard asleep. Not a lot of security with a snoozer. Not a lot of sleep without security. Low.

High. We met the new neighbor last night. He seems like a very nice man and I know he’s a hard worker. He begins work on the house between 5:30 and 6:00 in the morning and goes until around 5:00 or so, working very hard on his construction, leveling the ground, moving stone, erecting his posts (made of trees), etc…all by hand. No equipment here.

I think I scared him half to death when I spoke to him. We were standing on our deck when he returned to his place by bicycle. I asked him if that was his house and he nodded yes, but very hesitantly. I don’t know if he expected me to say something about the house being right on the other side of our wall or what but he was very apprehensive in his manner with us. After we introduced ourselves, he eased up a bit and told us his name. He said he has two children and he was very pleasant. We felt good about our few minutes with him. So, right now, it’s okay. High.

Low. Elizabeth and Miguel are having serious marital problems. This has been going on for some time but they are now separated. I spent six hours this week counseling with Miguel. This is not a culture that seeks help for marriages. A man’s pride, image and standing among his friends is everything. Many Christians here don’t think that God’s Word really is speaking to them directly about their situation…their life is the exception…just like so many Christians in the States. I think it’s interesting how political and geographical borders don’t change man’s nature. So different and yet, exactly the same.

We are going to Tipitapa on Monday and I’m hoping to be able to visit with Elizabeth a bit. She’s not a believer so I don’t expect to get very far with her. This couple is special to us and we have built a very good relationship with Miguel. Their separation is painful for all of us. If you are a person who is a follower of Jesus Christ, please join us in praying for Miguel and Elizabeth, that their marriage would be restored and that God would receive all the glory for it. This situation is weighing heavy on both Jim and me. Low.

High. Another missionary couple is returning to the States…no, that’s not my high. But their moving sale certainly was fun! Judy is one of the first people I met when we moved here last year…she’s a very sweet individual. They are actually returning to their home in Springfield, Missouri! Talk about a small world. They live about 30 minutes away from us but we decided to go to their sale to say good-bye and to see if there was anything we just couldn’t live without. Susanna decided to go with us so we headed out around 8:30, with the sale supposed to begin at 9:00. Ha! It was packed! Better than the bargains I found was running into a friend I had met last October. We didn’t have much time to catch up but it was so good to see her and visit for the few minutes we had. It made my day!

A sale like that brings out the gringos, believe me. Everyone wants “American” items and the best place to find things like that is at an American’s sale! There’s no such thing as garage sales here…no garages, nothing to sell, no money to spend…what’s the point? But an American missionary returning home means that they will have a house full of stuff to unload. Usually, it’s at ridiculously high prices but today, Judy’s things were really reasonable. A sign of “we’re leaving and I need to get rid of all this stuff”.

My bargains for the day came to a grand total of $16…I found a small framed floral picture for

$2 which will look “divine” in our bathroom, another larger frame which holds three photos, another $2, two clotheslines which are on a reel and as of this evening, are installed in our basement, another $2, a Scrabble game in Spanish – only missing the racks (our Rummi-kub racks will work), 50 cents, a bag with three big rolls of curly ribbon (not available here), $3, several different configurations of Velcro, $1, a large roll of double stick tape, $1, 13 small plastic webbed baskets to use to organize things on the school supply shelves, $2.50, a plastic container w/lid that had bits and pieces of things, such as a drill bit, Goo-Gone (my reason for buying it), a screwdriver, key rings, chip clips, a scoop, etc., $2. I shared the items I didn’t need with Margarita. She was happy. I was happy. Judy had a bit more money in her pocket. Blessings were abounding. High.

Lots of reactions instead of responses. Highs and lows. That’s the ebb and flow of life, I suppose. And I guess what makes the lows bearable is knowing that there is a High…the best High, the most High God. I just remembered something…in the inimitable words of Bible teacher, Beth Moore who said something along the lines of…”There ain’t no high like the Most High!” Amen.

Coin toss...

We have been home this week. It’s Holy Week here…mis-named in my opinion. Semana Santa is supposed to be observed with reverence and reflection of the week leading up to the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ. We live in a Catholic nation and as a result, most religious celebrations are centered around their beliefs and traditions. The following link has some great pictures and brief descriptions of some of the more unusual and interesting local celebrations. If you hold down your control key and click the address, it should take you to the website so you can read about these for yourself. www.vianica.com/go/specials/12-holy-week-nicaragua

We have seen a few signs of the more religious remembrances but due to our location, most of what we’ve seen has been much more secular in nature. This week is a great time of celebration with many businesses closing up, no school and massive amounts of folks head to the beach. This is also a week of parties, many of them involving alcohol…as if driving in Nicaragua wasn’t risky enough as it is…somehow adding alcohol to further impair judgment just doesn’t seem like the smart thing to do. I can understand why so many people want to go to the beach as the temperatures here are now uncomfortably hot…we’re in the time of upper 90s with the humidity climbing. I love the beach and wouldn’t mind getting wet by the waves…but not this week. I prefer to go when it’s basically deserted, like we’ve found it in the past.

There are a few main roads which lead from Managua to the Pacific and one of the major ones happens to be the same road that we take to Los Cedros. The road crew had been working on filling in the majority of the potholes on that road in anticipation of the increase of traffic during Holy Week. Regardless the reason, we’re thrilled that they were doing it as it has shortened our drive time back and forth to Los Cedros.

Even with the road crew patching, the holes aren’t completely filled in so there are still children standing alongside the road with shovels in hand. When they see a car coming, they quickly scoop up a shovelful of dirt and toss it into the hole, holding up one finger, asking to be paid a cordoba (the equivalent of 5 cents). Most folks don’t stop and I suppose I understand why, but most of the time, we do. We usually give the children each 1-2 cords, depending on how much change we have, plus a piece of candy. The majority of the children now look for our car with palms outstretched and smiles already spread.

It’s a hard call to make as to whether to give the kids the cords or not. It’s a poor area and although the kids aren’t really doing much in the way of filling in the holes (after all, if they did, they would put themselves out of a job), they are doing something other than just begging…or at least I’m trying to convince myself that they are. Admittedly, I have been taken to task before about this…and I completely understand the other side of the arguments which say it’s teaching the kids how to ask for money; it’s teaching them they can “earn” money without doing “real” work, it could very well be money misused. I understand all those things and I can’t argue them. I guess my only defense is it could also help buy a few more beans and rice to help fill some empty tummies. We’ve often had children yell “thank you” after us and one little girl flung out her arms and hollered in pretty good English…“I love you”…that was especially heartwarming for two ol’ softies to hear and it was well worth the 10 cents and piece of candy that it cost us. I’ll let God hammer me on this one if it’s not the right thing for us to do.

And when we have change, we’ll probably continue to pass it on…except to three little boys we see who regularly “work” together. We had given money to two of them several times before and although they weren’t overly appreciative, they were friendly enough. But then one day, a third little guy joined the two. He was sitting on the side of the road and not even pretending to toss dirt in to the hole as we pulled up. We gave the two boys who had been working the two cords apiece and immediately, the third one jumped up and asked if he could have some. I hesitated (and should have stuck with that first check in my spirit, but didn’t) but then dug around in the console. I didn’t have any more cordobas, but did have some of the smaller coins, which when added together, made up the same amount that the two other boys received. I gave the change to the third boy and he glanced at it, with a look of disdain on his face. Without even bothering to count the coins, he tossed them in to the weeds. Because there weren’t any cordobas in the batch, he thought the money was without value and tossed it. Mistake. I was shocked at his reaction and told him so…problem was I told him in English! Jim and I decided if he is able to be so choosy as to the configuration of his money, then he obviously isn’t in that much need.

And so we drive by the three boys now and no longer stop. It still pulls at my heart to see those outstretched hands, but we feel it would be wrong to reward that attitude. But…you know, when I think about it, that’s kind of how we all can be sometimes, isn’t it? When we receive something in life that isn’t exactly how we imagined it would be, sometimes, don’t we do the same thing and dismiss it as worthless…without bothering to examine it more closely. And just like that foolish little boy beside the road, we have chosen to be “cut off” from receiving any more. It makes me wonder what I’ve missed out on…and what I don’t want to miss out on in the future.

Maybe we need to try this coin thing again...after all, we serve a God of second chances (more like seventy times seven plus…but who’s counting?) and we should offer no less. Well, God’s done it again…taken me a different direction than where I thought I was heading with this…guess I better restock the console with change and candy for next week.

Life is hard...

The trouble with writing a blog is that rarely are there big events that happen during our days here but more often there are a series of small occurrences, which when all put together, comprise a typical day for us. Do not confuse typical with usual or boring. Life has yet to become boring here…hard, frustrating, busy, lonely, anxious, difficult, exciting, rewarding, painful, joy-filled, confusing…but never boring – at least not to us.


This past week is a prime example of what I mean. We had the clinic in Rio Blanco, teaching at Los Cedros and working with a group of kids from Washington there. We had tutoring Miguel on Wednesday and parent/teacher meetings Friday at the school. The other days we had errands to run, meetings to make, laundry to do, lessons to write, plumbing to fix (again) and grades to figure. We had medicines to purchase and deliver to two different people and medical bills to help with for a family. We had one guard leave and a new one begin…both named Felix. We had new kitties to fuss over and older kitties to appease, fire ants and wasps to spray and giant millipedes to stomp. The temperatures are rising along with the humidity. Today it’s 98. The winds have stopped as suddenly as though a switch were flipped. The comfort level in our house is in direct proportion to the speed of the fan blades whirring. They can’t go fast enough. And…I have a blog to write. There are lots of things to write about…just not enough time to do the writing! So, for now, I’ll write about last weekend in Rio Blanco.

Last weekend was our clinic weekend. We were a week late in having it due to some personal problems with Pastor Sergio’s family. But regardless of how our calendars looked, every bit of it was in God’s timing. It was as though God heightened our awareness and Jim and I both seemed to take more note than usual of the things and people around us as we traveled those 4 ½ hours north.

The road to Rio winds and weaves its way up in elevation. This time, it also wound its way through the sobering sights of death. Between Managua and Rio Blanco, we saw five different carcasses of cattle in various stages of decomposition from newly blasted last breaths to bloated bodies to bare bones…all wore the shroud of large ravenous turkey vultures which screeched and fought over their positional claim to their morbid buffet. It was a sobering sight with the intensity of the shock value remaining the same with each new discovery. We wondered if the lack of rain was a factor for seeing so many dead cattle – they were too far off the road to have been hit by a car. Perhaps there was a disease. Perhaps there was malevolence. Regardless, life here is hard – and death is disquieting.

Things are so brown here now in the Pacific lowlands…that’s the region we live in. But the transition to lush green as we climb in altitude, although subtle, is definitely noticeable…and refreshing. It’s amazing what a little rain can do. The higher we go in to the mountains, the more bromeliads we see peppering the tree limbs. The long tendrils of Spanish moss sway gently back and forth with the slightest breeze. We see fewer oxen and more cattle, fewer cars and more horses, fewer shoes and more bare feet. Life is hard.

Each month, the changing landscape as we drive up in to the mountains, always quickens my spirit. My head turns one way and then another as I try to take it all in, not wanting to miss one bit of the beauty. I find it to be breath-taking and it always seems new. It’s as if I somehow become more aware of the majesty of God’s handiwork in the handsomely chiseled features of the rugged mountains and the whimsy the twisted trees project as they reach for the sun. It’s so much easier to see His miracle of creation without looking at it through exhaust fumes, plastic and tin shacks and painted concrete. There seems to be movement in the inanimate…I think it’s God’s touch for He is Life and I prefer to put the images of the vultures acting like vultures, out of my mind and dwell upon the beauty of God’s thoughts manifested.

We stopped on a bridge over one of the rivers to watch the women and children bathing and washing clothes on the rocks. All movement stopped as soon as our car did. I rolled down my window. Smiles and waves appeared from the river at the same time my white face and arm emerged from the car window. We were as much of an attraction as were those in the river. The moment was brief but it was fun and we could hear laughter and shouts of “Adios” as we continued on across the bridge. Another time I wish you could have seen through my eyes.

There is always activity on the road. Cattle crossing the highway at their own unhurried pace, in spite of the whips dancing across their bony bovine bottoms, is a favorite scene. I love their gentle eyes, their floppy ears and their indifference to impatience. I wonder if God wants me to learn something from those even-tempered creatures.

Along with the cattle, there is no lack of pedestrian traffic. I always wonder where so many people could be walking to or from when there is no evidence of any kind of town nearby. Some carry heavy jugs of water, some carry bags with various provisions balanced on their heads, some carry babies and the ones that receive a good hard stare from me are the ones who are carrying back-breaking loads of wood for their cooking fires. I’ve seen folks carry what we would consider logs that must be tremendously heavy. And it’s more than the weight of their “leña” (firewood), it’s the fact that what we would never consider tackling without a chainsaw and a pick-up truck, they’ve managed to cut down with axes and machetes, carrying it on their backs or in their arms and then walking a good piece further than from the backyard to the fireplace. Life is hard and we are soft.

The clinic was one of the best we’ve had. We saw lots of patients and met many needs and in spite of having less help than usual, things seemed to go very smoothly, all in all. We still battled heat and sporadic losses of electricity, we still had snafus with forgotten supplies and a few miscommunications, but overall, it was good.

We had a different dentist with us this month and she was a joy to meet. Her name was Myra and she was very sweet and very strong in her faith. We thoroughly enjoyed our time with her…but then we weren’t sitting in a plastic chair with her hands in our mouths, either. She was unable to do fillings due to a lack of facilities and supplies, but she did do extractions. Extractions…not exactly what most people wish to have done. The children weren’t the only ones who were screaming.

Extractions are not pleasant even when novacaine has numbed the gums and Musak has numbed the nerves – the battle waged between the dentist pulling and the roots resisting is intense and every muscle in the neck, face and head are tensed to the max. I cannot nor do I want to imagine, what it is like to experience having that done with an allotted one shot of novacaine, the cd player blasting away at a deafening volume and the heat making the sweat trickle down the neck while sitting upright in a plastic chair with the head tilted back at a most uncomfortable angle. It’s not exactly a relaxed atmosphere nor is it conducive for soothing and assuaging rapidly mounting fears. I think I understand the screams…I had to bite my own lip a few times even just hearing it. Even so, the adults were very appreciative to have the opportunity to see the dentist and receive their meds for the minimal cost of $1.50 …the children – not so much. Life is hard.

We ended the day a little after 5:00 and began the long drive home. It was a great day…and it was a hard day. We did a lot of talking on the way back to Managua. It’s a longer drive home in the dark but it was just the right amount of time for us for this trip. For some time, Jim and I have felt as though God was telling us we needed to end our part in the clinic in Rio Blanco. We’ve not wanted to do that. That was a clinic we helped start just six short months ago and we weren’t ready to let it go. God spoke clearly to us during this clinic and we feared further disobedience. There are many reasons we believe God has led us to that decision but the reason we feel comfortable in sharing is that by closing this door in our ministry work, another one can open. The clinic will continue in Rio Blanco and we believe it will continue to be a blessing to the community there. We ask that you remember the clinic, the workers and those whom they serve in your prayers.

Although we feel a sense of sadness at the ending of this work, we also feel a sense of excitement at what God has next in store for us. We have learned in the last year that we don’t have to possess great talents or be of extraordinary stock…we just have to be willing and to be obedient to what God puts before us. Easy? Nope. Hard? Often. Life is hard. And it is short. This was a hard decision but it was the right one. We don’t want to miss out on a thing God has for us and we don’t want to settle for anything less than His best. We ask that you would also include us in your prayers and that we will be watching to see what the next opportunity is God has for us and that we would be faithful to step in to it…even though chances are good that we will see that life here continues to be hard.