Home and Back Again

Since I've been back to Nicaragua there has been a lot to do, a lot to think about, and a LOT to process. Everything just seems like a blur of emotions, mission teams, translations, barrio work-  and having to processing everything all at the same time without a break to just sit and breathe.  Yesterday was a hard day. Yesterday was one of those days when I feel so much, so strongly that I feel I am in danger of hugely spilling over the delicate edge of my self control. I think I need to be strong, to try not to think, not to feel. I feel like I need to keep face, stay composed for the many eyes that see me, and yet don't see me at all- the people who look and see the American, the Jesus follower, the missionary.. I don't want to mess up. I don't want to distort their view of any of those things as I live, defining them, for the watchful eyes on me day after day in and around Chinandega- I feel like there is too much at stake.. But as I laid on my bed and wept and wept, letting all of my emotion and thoughts and confusion be released through cold, wet tears soaking through my pillowcase- Jesus saw me, and he knew me. And still, he loved me through and through. 

I am not perfect, and the one who matters doesn't expect me to be. He makes me look inward, and ask: Who am I seeking to please? Who am I striving to serve? Man or my most perfect heavenly Father? Who has (past tense- ie already) chosen me as I am- to be my imperfect and battered self here where he's placed me, in His city in Nicaragua. I am not perfect. And by the grace of God I am reminded of that daily. I am human, and sometimes I feel like I might explode with all the sadness, love, guilt, joy, and frustration that fills me beyond overflowing on a daily basis. And think I need to be strong... But I am broken. And how can I not be? How can you not be overwhelmed when you've chosen to live like this, chosen to accept this kind of calling- living, crying, laughing, hurting- loving with your heart completely exposed as you offer it to every child, every stranger, every friend I meet here in Nicaragua... feeling Jesus' heart more and more as he reaches for me. And I am growing. I've seen extraordinary things come from ordinary people- imperfect people- people like me. And it has nothing to do with me, or them, or you- but everything to do with Him, the One who is alive and moving in us. There are hard days- full of tears and confusion, but soon followed by days of praise and peace. Always as promised, because His promises are true. And He never promised that His call would be easy, he insured us of just the opposite in fact. 

And this is the reason for the great hope we have to share in the incredible person of Jesus Christ. I am so blessed to know it, and even just begin to understand it in my brokenness in this broken world, more fully every day.

First Steps

Andre is walking! And it is a sweet, sweet thing to be present at such a precious time as this, a child taking his first steps. He is very wobbly, and looks a little bit like a drunken old man, but oh he is so cute. If we set him up against a wall and call for him to come to us across the corridor he always smiles, knowing his adorable newly acquired ability, and laughs as he ventures a few unsteady steps from the wall and into the loving hands of the one waiting to catch him. You can see the pure joy and delight in Andre’s face as he continues to take his first steps right into this exciting new phase of his life. And it’s fun, for him and for us, to see him trusting himself more and more to walk, and us more and more to catch him when he doesn’t. We tell him we are there- behind him, in front of him, on either side- and he hears us, but I don’t think he really believes us until he is caught in our arms, one stumbling step after another. Like I said, it’s a tender thing- and the Lord is so kind to let me be a part of it. He reminds me a lot of myself, Andre, as he stumbles along as best he can, eager to walk but not having a clue what his feet are doing- just walking straight towards the one thing he knows. Sometimes I am so worried about my “ministry”, and so focused on what I need to be doing or improving in, that I realize I am just stumbling over what the Lord has thoughtfully placed in front of me everyday. I realize that I have trapped myself in my own definition of what I think ministry should look like. And I am stuck inside the same box I have squeezed ministry into- mistakenly thinking that ministry is what I do, and not who I am. If Jesus made us all in the image of himself (which is unquestionably true- see Genesis 1:27), and He lives in believers (also true- see Colossians 1:27), and ministry in its purest form is simply showing the world who Jesus is and what His vast and immeasurable love looks like, then ministry- put simply- is living into who you are; living into the person the Lord created you to be. Ministry isn’t what you do- it’s who you are. Ministry comes from understanding Colossians 1:27, that Christ is in you, the hope of glory! And I have come to see that simply understanding and therefore living into that inconceivable truth allows Christ in you to shine forth, letting your light shine before all men, acknowledging the Lord in all your ways, and letting Him make straight the paths before you, in front of your feet, one stumbling step at a time. I try so hard to be constantly “doing” ministry while I am here, and if there is ever a slow hour, or day, or even week, I struggle incessantly to find things to make up for lost time as soon as the opportunity arises, as if the Lord has forgotten about me and isn’t already perfectly at work in that very moment. I go helplessly and excitedly ahead, looking for what I could or can be doing, and I stumble. I miss the beauty in each step the Lord has placed on the path before me, when all I need do is take the time to look at my feet, and the one in who’s holy footsteps I am walking, and let them lead me. Because even if your feet don’t know what they are doing, you know your path is straight. I feel like lately all I have been learning and experiencing and in turn telling you about, has been internal, in the form of revelations or teachings or self-growth. And that bothered me, because it didn’t fit my definition of ministry, of what I was limited God’s anointing on my life to. Now I take joy in simply learning and walking, mindfully following the path that has been set before me, because my ministry is my life- in my most mundane of circumstances, to my most thrilling adventures. And THAT is huge.

Ministry is your life; it’s who you are!

I pray that we can realize the reality of that, of Colossians 1:27, Christ living IN you, the HOPE of GLORY. I pray for growth from Jesus simply being a moral compass, to not only being a holy Father and perfect Savior, but the truest Lord of your life, and your very closest companion. And I pray for trust, as He wants to lead our wobbly steps thoughtfully on the path He has laid before us, beckoning us towards him through the still and the storm, step by step just like a child; and it is a sweet, sweet thing.

Lost?

We had our first mission group come in two weeks ago! It was like my birthday, Christmas, and everything good all at once as soon as I saw those familiar (and unfamiliar) American faces coming towards me at the airport. It was wonderful being able to speak English, relate to people, form relationships, and share what I’d been learning with them. Translating was also a huge blessing, being able to see how far I’d come since I had arrived 2 short months earlier. I feel like just in the team being here, with their presence and their encouragement I was able to understand, apply, and live out everything I had been learning and everything the Lord had been working in me- how he had been changing me. And that was really cool to see. Before the team had arrived I had felt lost and unsure- and there are definitely still times, many times, when I feel this way- but a new friend recently reminded me of something that was said towards the end of the trip that stuck with her that shed some needed light into my confusion. It was when the team was headed to the beach, for a free day after our week of ministry, and after driving a ways in the direction of our desired destination and some obvious confusion from the drivers seat, the van pulled over on the side of the road. “Are we lost?” a van passenger asked from the back seat, and the response was this, “No we’re not lost, we just don’t know where we are going.” And that made me think. Of course we are not lost. We are in the hands of an all-knowing God, always, even when we may not know where we are going. But we can know in the midst of unknowing, of trials, and confusion- we are exactly where we are supposed to be; we are walking with the Lord. And oh what a beautiful walk it is.

Being uncomfortable makes you stronger in a way, it makes you grow. And being here, alone, performing in dramas in another language in front of huge groups of people, rapping Spanish songs, sharing my testimony literally every where, finding out I’m the guest speaker at an assembly only right as I walk through the door and find an applauding audience waiting for me, being uncomfortable in one situation after another, after another, after another... It’s hard, and it’s breaking me down, letting a very authentic and very raw version of myself surface. And this is very strategic on God’s part I’m sure I’m growing. And the Lord, in leading me into this brokenness, is making me new and growing me into someone new- and in being beautifully broken, I feel stronger every day. I read the story recently of the woman pouring her perfume on Jesus’ head in Mark 14- and the beauty that this story holds continues to blow me away the more and more I read it. One of the things I love about Mark’s account of the event is that he specifies that the woman had to break the jar before she could anoint Jesus, and the sweet aroma of the nard perfume could fill the room. This perfume, called nard, is a very expensive, very valuable possession, probably the most valuable thing this woman owned, and its aroma was said to relieve grieves and pains of the past, and ease the transition from life to death. This woman would not have been able to perform this beautiful act if the vessel had not first been broken. I think only in becoming completely broken, can the Lord fill you, infiltrating every part of your heart, and heal wounds and pains of the past, making you new. And I think that is a huge reason why I am here, and what the Lord is doing in my being here. Being in trying, uncomfortable situations day after day is in many ways bringing out the worst in me, breaking me in order to heal and grow me in all the ways he has planned to. He leads me into situations that test me, that make me better. It’s hard and sometimes confusing, but a beautiful thing, and always a complete surprise. Living down here, in the confusion, in the beauty, in the chaos, I am comforted with the promise that in all of this I’m being made new- I am being broken. And I am certainly not lost; I am walking with the Father, into the unfathomable and great adventure He has laid before me.

Sometimes being here is really hard, and sometimes I wish I would just understand. Sometimes I wish I were understood, and that there was somebody here who really knew me. Sometimes I think its too hard, and too much. And sometimes, I wish I were home. I can't remember what it feels like to be emotionally, mentally, spiritually comfortable. I can't remember what it's like to not be tired. I can't remember the last time I could really call something my own, or even think of putting myself first at all. 
And I can't remember ever feeling so alive, and so right in so many ways.
Sometimes I feel too blessed for this to be real- to really be where I am, with the wonderful people I am serving beside, doing the beautiful things I've been able to do. Sometimes I feel like I can't take another day, and sometimes I feel like I could never leave. I can't remember ever seeing love and loving so much, so deeply, so vulnerably. And I can't remember there being a time when it wasn't worth it. Does it make life harder? Probably. But does it change lives? Absolutely. It's definitely changing mine. Through joys and through hardships, through tears and through prayers to our sweet Father, I feel the Holy Spirit deep at work in every part of my heart, and every part of my life.
There are times, many times, when I don't wan't to crucify myself daily. And thats when I have to remind myself: this isn't about me.
I am weak, and I have to pray for strength daily, for peace, for endurance, for a joy that is overflowing, when I so often run dry. I am here, and I am SO incredibly thankful and glad, in good times when I feel strong, and bad when I am weak. And in these times, in these trials, praise the Lord it is to test my faith, and not my character. Praise the Lord it's not about how strong or good I can be, but about how a strong He is, and how He is perfect, and enough, in every situation. And praise the Lord, all I have to do is remember, breathe, and surrender it all to the one who is more than capable, more than able, and more than enough for me.

Head to Heart

This past Sunday we made the 8 hour drive to North San Pedro, a mountain barrio about 400km from home in Chinandega. Those 8, almost 9 hours made for the longest, most pleasant drive I'd had in a while: the beautiful landscapes, the dirt roads, windows down..  everything completely new, everything exciting, and nothing but nature for miles and miles. This paired with sweet songs of worship, the whole way there- in English, Spanish, tongues..
Upon our arrival in the evening, we attended a church service where we spoke, shared testimonies, led music, and worshipped together. There were no doors to this church just a huge gated archway at the entry, and large open windows along the walls. And that was home for two days, administering medicine, praying for the community, bathing in the river, and sleeping on the warm floor every night, fans spiraling above us. It was there, laying on the hard ground, the  holy ground of that precious church, that something became very clear to me. And its one of those head to heart knowledge things that i cant  explain, because its simply Jesus. Ive been praying for humility and continue to, for my life to reflect John 3:30, to become nothing so Christ can be everything. As i reflect on the hardest times since I've been here, in my most difficult moments, they've all been about me. I've been focusing on me, how I'm doing, how I'm growing, how I'm measuring up, how I'm being seen here. Of course when I take my eyes off of Jesus all I'm going to see is the storm that's surrounding me. And without jesus, without him as my focus, as my center every day, every hour, every second- I know the waves will over take me. They have, and they will, every time I look at myself instead of Jesus. Praise God that this is not about me. Praise God that he is perfect and flawless and good and holy in every situation. And praise God he allows us to walk with him, towards him as changes us little by little, revelation by revelation- more of him less of us. Gosh Praise our sweet and kind father for that. So simple, yet so profound that God could  change my heart simply by the knowledge of it.
We left San Pedro late and decided to stay the night in Rio Blanco at a local Christian radio station, and doing another medical brigade in the church where we slept the next morning. Day 4 of the journey was much like the rest: tiring, hot, exciting, full of people, medicine, soccer, coconuts, oh and the new parrot we bought for Rossy for Valentines day. She is big and her sex is as of now undetermined, so we are calling her Lulu (taken from the name of this kind of parrot in Spanish, which is Lora), indefinitely. As we were packing up the truck and trailer once again, heading to another community that needed medicine instead of heading home, I got the incredible pleasure of introducing Lulu to four precious children who lived down the street, two boys and two girls. I talked with them, and gave the girls the coconut Lulu and I were sharing to feed her themselves, as the boys insisted on testing my theory that Lulu really couldn't bite that hard. As we talked and played with the palm branches and coconuts that scattered the ground around us, I realized the pure joy that was coursing through my veins, that was contagious, starting in the children's eager smiles and (seeping) right into my heart. I see Jesus so clearly in children. Something about kids, about their reckless joy and love and excitement for life. They absolutely radiate the joy and love that I'm sure embody the character of my friend and my savior Jesus Christ. Watching them laugh and play and embrace me with open arms, I couldn't help but let my heart swell with everything these children were bringing to me, and realize that I have nothing to give them that they haven't given me already.  I look at them, and i see Jesus.  I look at their dirty feet and worn clothes and welcoming smiles, and want to give them everything. And I know, deep in the core of my being, all I have is Jesus. I know all they need- all I need- is Jesus. And he's everything.
As we drive the dark and winding dirt roads, continuing on our never-ending adventure, my heart is full once again; in this truck, filled with pillows, my fellow Nicaraguan adventurers, and their sweet songs of praise- to the Father, to the Son Jesus Christ, who can be and has been and always will be everything for his people now and forever

Faithfulness Continued...

I can almost feel the climate beginning to climb into the warmer months tonight, as I lay here on my bed with my fan on high, typing out my thoughts and hopes and experiences for the world to read (the world, or my single official “follower” on blogspot- thanks Drew). It’s rare that my fan ever goes on a higher than setting 2, on a dial of 1 to 4, because Chris and I have discovered that increasing intensity from that stage simply creates a relentless Jurassic Park-like noise and a dangerous clicking sound from somewhere within the erratically spinning blades. Tonight however, as it is a particularly scorching evening and my roommates are happily in the air conditioning of the parent’s room, I am thankful for the aggressive background noise, as it drowns out the sounds of the suffering American karaoke session apparently happening with the Catholics next door.

So, for now, Jurassic Park roars..

Even with the stifling heat and noisy fan waiting for me as I get into bed, I graciously welcome this time every evening- time to lay still, to breathe. Right before I let my exhaustion drag me into hot, dreamless sleep however, and I am still, with the night and calm atmosphere that surrounds me- then, I can let the world slow, and my mind with it, letting my thoughts settle into this semi-cohesive stream of consciousness. And I can feel an overwhelming rush of gratitude and admiration wash over me.

I think of God’s faithfulness.

Over the past week my work with El Shaddai has drastically changed. The past month of helping out at the clinic, and doing odd jobs in every part of the ministry, never having a set agenda, going to all the meetings, doing all the activities, traveling to all the barrios- I felt so scattered. And though I still loved it- the hard, the easy, the dramatic, the mundane- I still couldn’t help feeling a little lost. A little unsure of why God had called me here. A little unsure if even the Lord had called me here. And then lately, this week especially, all the events, all the activities, all the translating, all the meetings are finally paying off; I just finished an El Shaddai document that is essentially all that is El Shaddai- the vision, the mission, the contacts, the ministry, the programs (including new children’s sponsorship programs just drafted this week), and the many ways to donate- and will be passing it on to any church with an interest in missions abroad. I can act as a translator, I can write official documents and emails for the ministry, I can partner with pastors and draft new programs that I think would be beneficial for the ministry, I can raise awareness in churches in the US, I can serve the people and the Ministry here to the best of my ability while I am here, and I can be the eyes and ears of people who are elsewhere, because I’ve seen it, and done it all already.

I think of God’s faithfulness.

Today was hard. I had to wake up at 7 for a pastor’s conference in Chichigalpa, and naturally it was a down hill spiral from there. Mid-afternoon as I lay down to rest, almost reaching my much-needed sleep, I got called to go to a bible study with the Pastora, and I would be leading some worship, and we were leaving now. My heart could not have been in a less-happy state as I sauntered into the van and buckled in next to Rossy. As we reached la iglesia Santa Ana, and circled the block a few times I asked where we were going, and the answer I received changed my state of mind immediately.

This past Sunday in church after the offering, a woman stood from her seat and came forward to share a testimony with us. I had never seen her before, which was understandable given my new circumstances, and so when I asked my neighbor who she was and they said all they knew was she ran with prostitutes, I braced myself for the story I’d heard too many times before- the story I hoped wasn’t coming.

Her name is Indiana. She is in her 40s or 50s, beautiful, and so incredibly valued and precious to the Lord. And as she stood in front of the church that day, sharing her broken heart and life with us, my lacking Spanish kept me from understanding everything entirely, but what I could understand brought tears to my eyes and a stomach wrenching ache deep in my heart. Indiana’s mother was a prostitute, and only a few short years after she was born her mother took her to a prostitution house, where I believe she was working at the time, and left her there. Painful years past and eventually she was allowed the opportunity to go live with her grandmother, which she took immediately. Indiana was 12 years old. Her grandmother died shortly thereafter, so she returned to her mother, thinking she would be received with loving and remorseful open arms. When Indiana found her mother, her mother was irate, beating her nearly to death on sight before selling her to another prostitution chain. Beaten, hopeless, and alone, Indiana worked as a prostitute in Chinandega for 30 years. Then she met Jesus. And with time, love, and Jesus’ sweet words of salvation and redemption, her broken heart and broken life were transformed into whole, new ones. After church that Sunday she came and ate with us in the afternoon, and played volleyball with us in the evening. The next day she went with Montse, Chris, and I to the market to go shopping for Montse’s graduation. And today we were meeting her at La Casa de Mujeres, for a bible study- a bible study with all of her prostitution friends whom she had invited. This was going to be the first one. My heart leapt.

I think of God’s faithfulness.

After circling the block what seemed like 11 times, we finally found the place we were looking for, a small gynecology office who knew many of the girls who were intended to be a part of this new bible study, and offered an empty consultation room as a possible meeting place. Two little girls painting their fingernails at the gate greeted us and sent us to the very back where Indiana was cleaning the room we were to be meeting in. When we got there Indiana informed us that no one was coming, that everyone had declined her invitation. My leaping heart caught in my throat. No one was coming. Indiana explained the girls’ mindsets to us, and began to talk to us about these friends of hers. Every account she gave us of their lives, as well as her previous one, drew pain and tears out of my raw heart as the Lord tugged it with every word. She still struggles to make ends meet, and more times than not, feels forced back into her previous life in order to provide for herself and her 3 children. She told me she wanted to start a bible study program, teaching the Word, as well as teaching prostitutes to sew, as an alternative income to the self-soliciting they feel trapped in now. I told her, fighting tears once again, that I would love to help her, and try to help get sewing machines and materials, and whatever they needed to get people up on their feet again, and out of the horrible sex industry. On hearing this, I can’t describe the look Indiana gave me as her sad and weary face broke out into a watery smile, tears escaping from her eyes and leaking in a constant stream down her face- causing mine to do likewise.

I think of God’s faithfulness.

I am so quick to doubt- so quick to lose trust, to be faithful with little… only then to turn the corner and see the bigger picture, to see the Lord be faithful with much. I have a restless spirit, so impatient, so ready to go- to see impact, results, and changes. God didn’t call me to Nicaragua for a sprint; He called me for a 7-month marathon. Everything in His perfect time. Everything for our good and His glory.
And so I lift my hands, I bend my knees, I sing of his glory. I do what I was made for. I don’t need to worry about what activities I am doing tomorrow, or what meetings I will be attending this week, or what "good" I think I am doing in my narrow and skewed view of the path that lays ahead of me.

I think of God’s faithfulness.
And I lift my empty hands of faith to receive.

He is Faithful

This past Sunday I led worship with my nica sister in a barrio here called Limonal, one of the more dangerous barrios we have the opportunity to do ministry with. Osvaldo had approached me the week before and told me I'd be leading some songs, so it wasn't a complete shock the day before when Rossy asked me how practicing was going. What was a shock however, was when context clues led me to discover they were intending for me to lead in English, AND Spanish. It was one of the most nerve wracking things I've ever agreed to do (even though it was kind of unknowingly, and I didn't really have a choice), but I heard once that faith was spelt RISK- and if this was anything for me it was risky, and therefore, a huge step in that direction. So Montse and I began to practice, learn, and write out lyrics together into the night.

There was a refreshing breeze through the dry heat of that Sunday morning, as over 100 people gathered there with us in Limonal to worship and praise the lord together. Everything went smoothly and wonderfully after Montse and I pulled up to the dirt pavilion just in time. Introduced literally as we stepped out of the Shaddai van, Montse and I sang and harmonized together, switching from Spanish to English, and back again, to the rhythm of the holy spirit in that place. During the lesson, Osvaldo talked about Romans 10:15, and how beautiful are the feet of those who bring the good news. I looked down at my feet, covered in dirt and dust- not unlike every other day since I've been here- dusty, dirty, and anything but beautiful. I look at the feet of the pastor, the people, the children, and back down at my own: all them covered with dust. And yet all of them covered with the blood of Jesus. A friend of mine brought another scripture to mind recently- God makes beauty out of dust. 

I think about the children I want so badly to serve, their jubilant faces smiling up at me through the dust in the barrios. I think about the clouds of dust that billow up behind the dozens of little feet chasing our van as we leave. I think about the dust that completely covers all of us by the end of the day- our feet covered by the work we do day by day. I think about when Jesus washed the disciples dirty, dusty feet, and how he is using this awesome experience to wash mine. As I live life here in this new place, learning how to serve, learning humility, living what Shay Claiborne describes as the church coming alive, as the body of Christ, and not in some figurative sense, but literally the flesh and blood of Jesus here to do his work on earth- His hands, His feet. The same dusty feet that walk through the streets of Chinandega, of Limonal, of Nazareth, of Clemson, of Johns Island. And so as I walk these streets, as I walk with Jesus, and continue striving to learn what it means to be brought out of the dust, to be made beautiful, a true servant- I can feel my earthly perspective shifting. I can embrace the gospel I am living here, and walk on this holy ground, into the gospel of grace.

Overflowing

"For out of overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks."- Matthew 12:34 

I pray more of Him, less of me. Every day I pray that He would empty me completely & allow me to lose myself, to find and be filled entirely by Him. His love fills my heart and overflows into my life, allowing me to love like Jesus. 
As I walk down the streets here my heart is full, I want to reach, to touch, to heal, to be faithful in every way He has called me to be. All kinds of people surround me as I pass from one home to another- the poor, the rich, the joyful, the hopeless- all living here side by side; a sparkling gated mansion next to a rickety tin hut- the smiling right alongside the painfully sad. I walk and pray and wonder which of them, if any, know Jesus. And then I hear Jesus' response, barely audible over the chaos of my own thoughts and opinions jumping into my mind, saying, "This is what is important: I know them and I love them. All of them- of every status, every sentiment, and every circumstance; no one more than the next.  No ground less holy than the other." And in that moment, even through the heat and sweat dripping from my forehead, I felt chills run down my spine causing goose bumps to raise all over my sun-cooked skin... And I began to see it: the Lord's beautiful heart for his people in Nicaragua- just a glimpse of the powerful love that can surpass social status, circumstance, and all knowledge. 
I am never happier than when I am down in the barrios, eating and playing and kneeling in the dirt and dust with the people and the children there, the poorest of the poor. They have a joy that in their situations and circumstances is literally unexplainable. They have nothing besides the clothes on their backs and the shoes on their feet, but what they do have goes far beyond anything of this world. They don't have plasma flat screen TV's, nice cars, and sometimes not even a roof over their heads- but oh they have Jesus. And simply that, is enough for them. They are full, overflowing. And their joy, their love, is contagious. They have the aroma of Jesus.
I am blessed as I walk through the streets of Chinandega. I am blessed as I wave back to the giggling children on every street corner.  I am blessed as I take part in this awesome journey with Jesus, in pace with the beat of his heart, with every step he moves my feet to take on this hard, dusty, holy ground- every breath he gives me to praise his precious name- every opportunity he gives me to share it with his people- every moment, every blessing that brings me continually to my knees, over and over again. 
And there is no place I'd rather be.

A Calm in the Storm

So things have taken a turn for the tranquil lately. I get to spend a lot of time with the family, praying and worshipping with them, and watching Biggest Loser (it’s an emotional season- Americans and Nicaraguans alike). With less directed work to do and less things to keep me occupied, I am forced to look inward (which I’m sure was the plan), and face difficulties that were easily avoided in the midst of all the craziness and chaos in a typical, wonderful day here in this place. After being here almost a month, the loneliness I’d pushed to the back of my mind is beginning to re-surface. It’s easy to be overwhelmed here- literally everything has potential to override my mental, emotional, and physical balance, and become an instantaneous overload. With time I’ve realized the things that can immediately help me return to that place of peace the Lord created me for. I’m a quality time person, in my down time, I have to recharge- I have to go to and spend time with the one and only source of peace and joy and consistency that’s overflowing.  (Or blare my totally secular American music- I don’t know what it is about Beyonce and Chris Brown, but they always seem to just bring me back… Don’t worry Jesus is always my go to, I promise. …But there’s just something about good LOUD music, and trust me my new Nicaraguan friends definitely understand me on that one- they take blaring music to a whole new level. Especially the Catholics next door- they love Beyonce). I usually go up stairs during these times of necessary renewal. They have this room upstairs, always kept clean and in its utmost condition, that they call the Tabernacle: it’s a 24/7 prayer room, and literally has a gold tabernacle in the center of it. It’s awesome- always having at least 3 lizards on the ceiling, and a cool Nicaraguan breeze welcomed into the heat of the un-air-conditioned room through a perpetually open window. It’s a wonderful place to find and return to peace when I get caught up in the busyness, in doing things, in serving; I turn my focus to all of my lesser goals, and I take my eyes off of the one most important overarching one. That’s when the doubt, the insecurity, and the loneliness find their way into my day to day; and I function as if I am alone, as Jesus fades into the background of all I am trying to do for Him, waiting for me to put Him back in the center, and let Him carry me again, because we both know I can’t do this alone. It’s been harder lately, but I think this is one of those times I have to remember that sometimes God chooses to use difficult times, rather than change them- because my heart is his first and foremost priority.

I’ve been told many times that I am not going to be the same person when I come back from Nicaragua. That people are going to wonder what happened to me over here. I suppose if it’s supposed to happen it will; I don’t know what that would look like or what that means for me right now, but I have to admit, I’m pretty excited at the prospect.

Faith

Then the disciples asked, “Why couldn’t we drive out the demon?”

Jesus replied, “Because you have so little faith. I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.

If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be given to you. This is to my Father’s glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples.

I tell you the truth; anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing. He will do even greater things than these... And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.

Is any one of you in trouble? He should pray. Is anyone happy? Let him sing songs of praise. Is any one of you sick? He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord. And a prayer offered in faith will make the sick person well; the Lord will raise him up. If he has sinned he will be forgiven. Therefore confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The prayers of a righteous man are effective.

In my name they will drive out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all; they will place their hands on sick people, and they will get well.”

Then the disciples went out… and the Lord worked with them and confirmed his word by the signs that accompanied it.

Matthew 17:20-21, John 15:7-8, 14:12-14, James 5:13-16, Mark 16:17-18, Mark 16:20

A Normal Day

So I've been learning how to be a pharmacist going to the clinic for 4 or 5 days of the week, and learning about prescription drugs and prescribing medicines in the pharmacy. Yesterday was the first day I actually put it to use: I consulted my first patients at the medical brigade in Watel Arata- completely in Spanish- and under the watchful eyes of my assistants of course- Cindy, Ishmayline or Ishma for short, and Cristel (all 8 and 9 years old). I administered their medication, explaining what it was and why it was prescribed, and explained the dosage. We had almost 150 patients (including an old man named Freddy and a 13 year old named Larry, which was a nice change from all the Marias, Pedros, and Angelas we'd been seeing all day long), which is huge compared to the usual 30 or 40 at most. It took literally all day- 9 to 5.  I realized then though that after only 2 weeks I can already talk and play with kids and have slow to medium speed conversations, even consulting medical patients. Even more people have started refusing to speak English to me now, but I cant really complain.. I guess it's helping. 
It looks stormy a lot here, especially in the barrios closer to the volcano because of the ash and dust- but it keeps it cooler, and I've always liked stormy weather so I don't mind, we just wear our masks if it starts to settle. But somehow, the sun still manages to blaze through the dark sky making us all nearly sweat to death at the tables we're stationed at; I can only imagine the heat the people outside the consultation tent must be feeling every sweltering hour that passes waiting in line.

It's getting cooler at night now, in the 70s, which is nice! It almost makes me want to start sleeping under a sheet again- but not quite. Many nights when we're all home we'll go to a bible study or meeting at the church/clinic which are always great and so full of the Holy Spirit, but I always leave feeling disheartened, and tired, and missing home. One of my new friends named Claudio found me after the bible study last night and asked me why I never prayed or sang during worship. I tried I tell him I definitely do at home, and I would- I just didn't know what was going on or else I definitely would be joining in.. I just feel like I can't. I feel too lost in the midst of everything that's happening around me. It's hard to sit through a 2 or 3 hour bible study and worship gathering when you only understand bits and pieces, and you feel like you literally can't grow and learn with everyone else. It's hard to feel so disconnected, like I can't really pray with them even if I really want to, because I don't know what's going on or what they're saying. It's frustrating and disheartening because I can feel Jesus so present, so thick in that place, but it just feels like my hands are tied, and I can't seem to figure out how to react, how to worship. It's hard to explain, but at least in the midst of everything, I can feel the Lord working in and through it. I'm praying and waiting and renouncing anything that works its way into my heart that's not from Him. I know the Lord isn't confined to the boundaries of language. I know His character to be the same here, there, now, and forever.

Prayers for strength and for confidence. For a spirit of wisdom and understanding to know Him better, to recognize him in any situation, and be led to complete surrender in worship- whatever that looks like. For a reckless abandonment in every aspect of my life here- because this isn't about me, and I don't want to get in the way.

La Brigada

I love it here!! I’m so busy and exhausted all the time, (especially living with a 9 month old, I feel like I’m already getting a taste of parenthood) but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I love the work I am doing, the people I am with, and the heart of the family the Lord is allowing me to know intimately for the time I am here. All day Friday I was at a medical brigade at the volcano (the largest in Nicaragua, and the one that has been erupting the past couple weeks) it was beautiful, but still spiting ash so we wore masks and stayed away from the dust clouds (pulvo) as much as possible. The masks, paired with our scrubs, El Shaddai shirts, and stethoscopes made us look very official; which is probably why everyone automatically assumed I was a doctor, that and I was white. I did the charts and “logging” of the medicines and patients at first, but once Chris (my roommate/sister here) and I switched, I was free to go amongst the people and talk and pray and love them a little bit. During the second community we visited I sat next to the medical supply truck with one girl named Jessica, and began to talk to her (in my inexperienced Spanish) telling her my name, about my family and why I was there. She was shy at first, but once her friends gathered and I got them talking, they didn’t stop till was rolling up the window to the truck as the team drove away a few hours later; they even ran after us to ask for my phone number. Jessica, her mom, and her three brothers and sisters were shoeless, and their clothes, and bodies, were about the same color as the dirt they were playing in. She was 12 and her siblings were 5, 7, and 9 I think. We talked and played and I taught them magic tricks (which turned out to be a bit of a challenge with the language barrier we were encountering), and we almost got stampeded by a heard of sheep, bulls, and cows (twice) as they came running down the uneven mountain paths. One of those times a terrified and crying little boy, who couldn’t have been more than 6, couldn’t quite climb up the dirt walls on either side of the mountain pathway as the herd stampeded towards us, and so my immediate thought was to yell “Stampede!! In the gorge! Simba’s down there!!”... but quickly realizing that no one would even get that Lion King reference, I slid down the hard dirt wall of the pathway and ran to hoist him up onto the other side to which he was reaching, and grabbed a vine to pull myself up with him before the herd charged over us, in a mad dash to safety, away from the Nicaraguan herder on horseback bringing up the last of them from behind- I had seen “Australia” with Hugh Jackman, and being trampled by a herd of livestock is not pretty (it wasn’t as dramatic as the scene in the movie.. but still, it was a good story). After the herd passed and we all covered our faces with our shirts as the clouds of stirred up dust settled, I helped all the children back down and we began to talk again, and communicate as best we could about topics we could both understand. And this- as I talked with the children, and played, and laughed with them- was when my confidence began to rise. We understood each other- and love knows no language. It’s funny how when I came here I was thinking only of myself, and how I was going to be doing so many things, and helping out in so many ways- ie me, giving to them. But now I’m starting to think I’m here not only for the people here, but also for me personally. To learn, to grow, to encounter Jesus in each little child I meet smiling up at me with such love through the dirt and filth that surrounds them. I feel like here, spirituality is more raw, the love for Jesus is so real, and not covered up or complicated by materialism and pride and self preservation- Nicaragua is home to some kind of reckless abandonment that I am still trying to figure out. And my heart swells- every time I wake at 7 in the morning to go work at the clinic, every time my eyes burn as I bend over a smoky fire to cook for a hungry child in the barrios, every time I sit down in the dirt and dust next to the tin and cardboard houses, introducing myself in broken Spanish to the people living there, and every time we worship alongside each other- hands raised, in sweet praise of the only thing we have in common. Jesus is so alive here, and being such a part of it- in it- makes me never want to leave.

La Nica Way

So 12 days here have come and gone, and I am learning a TON.

As far as Language goes, a lot of times when speaking Nicaraguan Spanish they use half of words instead of the whole word in conversation (like “porfa” instead of “por favor” for example), and they use common phrases that don’t make any sense at all, I guess kind of like we use “raining cats and dogs” in the states, and they add pues to anything and everything, like "dale pues" (which is basically esta bien) or "adios pues", and also phrases like alaviuda (It’s like voicing frustration- saying I’m angry), or me pudre (frustration- when something’s making you mad). I’m starting to get a much better idea of how to speak the language, and in just making myself try and talk all the time, I’m learning a lot. On one of our more recent long car-rides, which happen quite often, I asked about a statue that we passed of a man, only his torso and right leg visible, chiseling himself out of a mountain of bronze. It was commissioned by Ortega, and symbolized the culture of Nicaragua, and honored the working class, which is and was what Nicaragua was built on. That started a solid hour discussion about Nicaraguan history, government, politics, and Ortega. I soaked it all in, it was so interesting!

Also, there are zero traffic laws here- I heard Clair talking about traffic in Africa, and I think some of her experience and explanation is pretty much accurate for here too: there are 3 basic rules of the road-

1) the bigger car has right of way.

2) stay on your side of the street, unless you don't.

3) honk when necessary- or all the time.

It’s chaotic, but somehow I’ve gathered it’s pretty safe. I've gained a lot of respect for everyone driving around in this place, its all stick-shift and its all crazy all the time- weaving in and out of cars, dogs, horse pulled carts, triciculos (taxi bike things), normal bikers (usually 2 or 3 per bicycle, sometimes whole families- it's impressive), children, families, etc. They said I will learn to drive stick-shift here, before I leave… I’m not holding my breath.

I've also learned that Nicaraguans are jokers, which is fun, but when everything is a joke, it can definitely be tiring at times. I think that’s one reason why the culture is so laid back. They have a very loose interpretation of time and punctuality, but so does everyone else, so it works. 

I love it here! I'm definitely going to be sad to leave...

Finally!

Estoy aqui!! Finally. 

AND I found a way to access wifi! Finally. 

Leaving this past Wednesday came and went more rapidly than I could ever imagine! Its already day four of mi vida nicaraguense! The preparation and anticipation for my leaving really built as the hours became shorter and shorter; my departure on my first flight into Atlanta fast approaching. But even with the bright horizon of adventure in plain sight, leaving my family at the airport was so bittersweet. I was sad to leave knowing I’d be away for so long, and I was scared of the unknown I was walking into as I walked from my family and friends towards the terminal... And yet I can’t explain it, but I, beneath all my surface level emotions, had a complete peace- a peace that definitely surpassed my own understanding. I think it’s because I knew I was walking right into the Lord’s arms and what he had planned for me. So I left the US, and Osvaldo and his greeting party were at the airport when I arrived, picking me up from the airport in Managua at 8:30pm on the dot. That was the first time I felt doubt squeeze its way into my mind. The team that had come to pick me up barely spoke English, and all of a sudden I was too quickly very aware that life was from now on going to be very, very different. In my first few hours in Nicaragua I felt like such an outsider, sitting in the back of the van, listening to my new Nicaraguan friends yelling and laughing, hearing my name come up a few times in the blur of fast paced Spanish conversation. I could understand a least some of what they were saying and the jokes they were making, but they definitely couldn’t understand me. My confidence level was slowly dropping.

Remember how I said that Nicaraguans don’t seem to have a sense of time? Well here’s my trip home to Chinandega, the start of my adventure, in a nutshell: We drove from the airport to get food, to a drop-in for a friend of his in a nearby city, to get food again, to a pharmacy, to the gas station (we didn’t get gas), and finally to a church office in Managua. By that time it was 2am, and that was when Osvaldo decided to tell me we were going to stay the night in Managua, so that he could attend a funeral service there the following afternoon.  Oh, and we were staying the night in the parked van- all 8 of us. After the funeral service the next afternoon, we finally started heading home- leaving the cemetery, going to the grocery store, a restaurant (naturally), another gas station, a motorcycle shop, all before arriving safely at the Bonilla residence in Chinandega around 4 or 5pm. I don’t think I’ve ever been stuck in a minivan for that long in my entire life, and I’m a triplet, so we were all about minivans.

Now I have been here for about a week and I’m learning so much about myself, and the Lord, and it’s starting to feel a lot more like home. My Nicaraguan family is wonderful and I love every minute I get to spend with them, especially my roommates (Osvaldo’s daughter Christian and her son Andre). Everything that has happened since I’ve been here is a blur as I try to go back and sum it all up.. I will mention however that the first thing we did when I got here, was help Osvaldo’s other daughter Montse, who is in her last month of Med school right now, remove part of a tattoo from our friend Angie’s back- with like sterilization, scrubs, gloves, anesthesia, scalpels, the WHOLE nine yards. I didn’t help for very long, and soon opted to just hold Angie’s hand. The houses here are so cool (not literally- life without air-conditioning has in and of itself been quite the adventure). The houses here are so open, like the doors and windows are like swinging dressing room doors or something, and the walls don’t quite meet the ceiling, and the windows are open with bars on them. It’s like living outside with walls and furniture, which is awesome- but hot. Like sweating all the time hot, but at least it makes an ice cold shower with no hot water a little more enjoyable. That being said, there’s a lot of really cool wildlife here, and it’s not just the outside kind. The family has a pet parrot, named Paco, that lives in the house, and just flies and walks around with us which is awesome (except that he bites- hard). And that first night when we left the operating area in Montse’s room, and I headed to mine, there was a spider the size of Texas right next to my bed- like it definitely wouldn’t have fit in the palm of my hand. That was definitely scary, but not nearly as scary as the scorpion I found in the shower with me this morning.

Oh Nicaragua- such an adventure. 

I’ve been working in the clinic, about 8 hour days thus far. It’s great, but it can be really hard (like today), being in a room bustling with at least 6 other people, not understanding anything, not knowing what to do, and no one understanding me when I try to ask. Ergo- I’m not much help yet, just doing little chores and sorting and counting pills and such until I pick up the language a bit more. It’s happening a lot quicker than I would have thought though, partially because everyone besides Christian and Montse either refuse to speak to me in English or don’t know how to, but it’s actually helping, because yesterday in church I realized I could understand most of the sermon and even follow the scripture and songs a little bit more than usual. This experience has been very humbling. And whenever I start to get frustrated or lonely or sad, God is so faithful, and when I ask, he is always there to restore me and bring something wonderful my way. Today for example after a few tearful hours in the clinic I went back to the house to clean, and after some time in the quiet with the Lord, I got asked to go do a church-like program with Crespin (one of the pastors that lives in Osvaldo’s house with us) in one of the local barrios, which was wonderful AND we rode a motorcycle through the city- which may not seem like a big deal, but in Nicaragua.. It’s awesome. Tomorrow I think Crespin and I are going to do a medical brigade (and I’m not entirely sure what that is yet..), and Osvaldo and Rossy always say I need to be up and ready by 7:30 or 8am every morning (which I am), and then they always sleep in till 9. At least it gives me the time I definitely don’t have during the daytime to write my blogs and emails and such. When I find internet (which is SELDOM) I’m hoping I can just copy and paste and upload everything quick since the internet doesn’t have great service here and can get expensive. So if you haven’t personally heard from me yet, there it is- and Christian and I are working hard to figure out wifi, so contact and more frequent blog posts are hopefully coming!

I’m so excited to be sharing all my lessons and adventures with you all!

Stay tuned- the adventure continued… 

AND if anyone still feels called to wants to donate to my mission- you definitely still can! 100% of the money I raise goes directly to the organization, El Shaddai, and it will allow to do more while I'm there! like fund more feeding programs, barrio work, prison ministries, outreach, the clinic, the medical brigades, etc! Just contact my dad (Walt Miller) or email me at hgmille@clemson.edu

Gracias mis queridos amigos por todos las felicitaciones y apoyo para mi vuelo!
me siento muy amada, y estoy agradecido para eso.