The Nica Post (Pt. 2)

Click here to read last week’s installment: The Nica Blog (Pt. 1)

What are those crazy kids (and Scott) up to now?

Matagalpa

We arrived in Matagalpa around 10pm, so the car ride would most aptly be described as dark, something that was a little sad to me because I love to look out the window. However, we arrived-worn out, but joyful-from a successful day doing ministry in the city of Darío. In the darkness, all I could make out was a cross shining somewhere above the city. When we got to the house, we quickly divvied up the beds and crashed.

The next day was Sunday, and we were to attend a service at a local church in Matagalpa. Walking out the door in the morning made me catch my breath, as I realized that we were in a little city cradled by mountains on all sides. Where ever I looked, there they were, green and towering. High above the city, I found the cross I had seen as we arrived.

The church service was wonderful. There was a real freedom to worship God there, and people danced, blew shofars, and pounded tambourines. They were excited by the spirit of the Lord, and His presence was evident. I did my best to translate for Danielle, but the pastor’s accent and way of talking defeated my best efforts, and finally I stayed silent as we soaked up the atmosphere of the place.

Miguel lookin' fly in an
ice cream parlor

After church, Scott took us to a place he knew of near the center of town, a little ice cream shop called Bésame. I would probably have named it El Cielo (Heaven). All of the ice cream was homemade, and the décor was beautiful, AND there was coffee, too. Seriously-heaven. The owners are a couple from California and Costa Rica, respectively, and if you’re ever in Matagalpa, Nicaragua, please go check out their store. You will not regret it.

Monday found us on the side of a mountain outside of the city. Project Hope has a small cafeteria there, in a village called Sol María, where children can come and eat lunch for free. As it was explained to me, they used to only operate it during the school year, but government funding is now allwoing them to keep it open during the summer, as well because of the need in the village. It is a very poor place, where the homes are constructed of metal and wood, with dirt floors and a lot of exposure. Most places do not have electricity or running water, and children are usually the ones dispensed to get the buckets of drinking and cooking water at the well. The children were dirty and loud, but filled with love.

  

We arrived in the morning, ready to clean up the cafeteria and cook some food, only to find that the pastor had scoured the place in anticipation of our visit and the food was already in the process of being cooked. Because I’m actually a six year old, and prefer to hang out with people in my own age range, I had the opportunity to play with a lot the children. Where ever we went, there were children everywhere, probably because it was their “summer” vacation. The school year runs February-November in Nicaragua, giving everyone a nice holiday off for Christmas. Joe started a baseball game, and we played. We danced, we ran, and we fell down. Danielle and I gave piggy back rides until we couldn’t carry any more kids, and then we played some more. In the middle of their poverty, these children who have almost nothing were so joyful, just because they were playing While we played, I had the chance to talk to them, and what I heard broke my heart.

They told me all sorts of things. How going to school wasn’t always possible because there were no supplies. How they were staying with cousins because mom didn’t have food for them right now. How grandma took care of them because mom had to harvest coffee. How they got new shoes, but they were saving them for school. How sometimes there wasn’t enough to eat. How they had never seen their daddies, or not for a long time.

That’s the thing that gave me the jolt I needed. I remembered that this was what I was made for. Not just for “missions work,” and not to go out into the world and try to change things myself. I am inefficient and ineffectual; it’s a proven fact. But I can serve. I can go out and play with children and tell them about a God who cares for them. I can look hurting kids in the eye and tell them about a God who will never abandon them, even if their parents may have. In the middle of playing with dirty children in the middle of a village on the side of a mountain in Nicaragua, I was reminded of what I was made for, and what I was supposed to be doing.

That night, Scott had decided we were going to host a party. He has a lot of friends in the city of Matagalpa, and the last time he had been in Nicaragua, he had promised to get in contact with a lot of them. Ruth and Cecy planned most of it, getting together the food-Scott ended up hosting a Mexican fiesta, much to the chagrin of some of the invitees. Nicaraguans don’t feel as strongly about picante as Mexicans do. I’m not sure how many people he invited, but about 25 people showed up, and then Earl Rutledge got out a guitar and the party really got started. We all just started worshiping and praising the Lord together, this community of people from Europe, Central America, and North America. We were so far gone we forgot about the food for a while!

The next day, we were working again with Project Hope. This time, we went to another village, up the side of another mountain. When we arrived, there was already a line of children standing outside of the door of the church. This was the day they were getting new shoes. We came, with our boxes of shoes, and readied our things. Ita grabbed her camera and began snapping shots as we filled basins of water and pulled out chairs. As the children came in, they each received a pair of shoes in their size. We pulled off their dirty, sometimes broken shoes and sandals, and carefully washed each little toe on each little foot. As we washed, we prayed over the lives of those children, often asking if there was anything they needed prayer for, sickness or parents, anything. Then we slid their feet into their new shoes, and away they went, as we prepared for the next child.

 

When all of this was over, someone told me I was doing a good job. Those words kind of gave me a pause. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember the last time someone had told me that and I had believed it, without qualifying it either verbally or mentally. We’re so quick to tear ourselves down that we rarely ever even seem to hear the words when someone compliments us. And I get it-the bad stuff is easier to believe, because that’s what we’re confronted with and what we confront ourselves with. But just those little words-You’re doing a good job-I actually allowed myself to feel, and accept. And that compliment made my day. We spent the afternoon taking in the sights of Matagalpa, and rocketing ourselves down a zipline on the side of one of the mountains. It was, without a doubt, completely awesome!

Wednesday was our last full day in Nicaragua. We were supposed to be driven to the neighboring city of Jintega in Earl’s van, but his youngest son Luke came down suddenly with appendicitis and had spent Tuesday night getting his appendix out; needless to say, Earl was a little busy. Pastor Raul, who lives next door to Earl’s house in Matagalpa, volunteered to take us in his pickup, and so five fearless adventurers piled into the back while the other four members of the team climbed into the cab. Here’s a note to you guys: when crossing mountain passes in a pickup, I would highly suggest riding in the cab, as it can get rather cold and wet in the unprotected back of the pickup as you climb higher and higher into the clouds.

Note the death grip on the cup of coffee!

  

Our day in Jinotega was restful as we bummed around the city, looking (and failing to find, for the most part) souvenirs to bring home. We did find a lot of good food though. After Earl’s wife Beverly fed us the best enchilada’s I’ve ever had, some of the team went to climb up to a lookout point just above the city. I stayed behind, and got to spend some time talking with Beverly and washing her dishes-at least until nine-year-old Esperanza pushed me out of the way, explaining that I wasn’t washing them correctly. Having been thoroughly chastised, I occupied myself with serving ice cream for the rest of the team.

That night, we held a service at Pastor Raul’s church, La Fuente. Jim preached, but what it really was was an initiation to come and be ministered to.  As the people came and were prayed for, I was amazed by the gifts that God had placed in my fellow teammates to minster to the people. For me, what that time really drove home was the necessity of being in close relationship with the Lord, because the closer you are to Him, the more He can minster through you. It was an amazing night; the Lord really began to work in the church, and His presence was palpable.

After all of that, I couldn’t sleep. Joe, Danielle and I ended up staying up pretty late into the night, talking about ourselves and the things God had done and was doing in our lives. Once again, I was floored by these people I had just recently come to call my friends. One of the things I took from that three hour conversation was the conviction that I needed to change the way I was living my life. Because it was very evident to me that my life was not giving the same testimony that I had been witnessing all week from the two of them, and it was more evident to me that that was what I needed. Not just words. Not just saying I loved God, and not just saying I was serving Him. Not wandering through the motions of it all in the office or in the dorm but missing the real heart of it. What I really needed was a real touch of God in my life, and a passion to pursue holiness. What I needed was a revolution.

Which more or less brings us to today, a few weeks after coming back. I’ve spent a lot of the past couple of weeks processing my trip. Where I went, what we did, who I was with-it all seems to me like something of a divine appointment, exactly what I needed for where I was at that point in time. I’m a work in progress (aren’t we all?), and all of those things that I realized about myself and the things God is calling me to while I was in Nicaragua are only just starting to germinate and really take root in me. So I’m going to mind the plants and weed as necessary, and pray to start showing some fruit in me soon.

That’s all I’ve got for you today. Stay tuned for some fabulous children-related blogs, a rant about how much I love Oswald Chambers and who the heck he actually was, anyways, and a new What You Don’t Know installment, all coming this February! More Poverty Becomes You, coming your way!

Photo Credit LHI Missions, Ita Hernandez and Joe D. Lope

The Nica Trip (Pt. 1)

Can you find me? It's like Where's Waldo!

Some of you may have spent the last few (or more) months wondering what has become of this little blog. Our fearless author, Alisha, it seems has to have fallen off the face of the planet to have been this silent for this long. Where you’ve been going for your weekly dose of missionary humor and cute little girl stories, one can only wonder.

But fear not, gentle people! I have returned, and have a story of semi-epic proportions to tell you. It’s so big, I’m going to tell it in multiple installations. And, contrary to common belief, it does not begin nor end with my recent trip to Nicaragua. So pop some popcorn, settle into your seats, and read on!

We all know that I came down to Mexico kind of green. You can see in some of my earliest posts, I had no clue really what I was doing. I just wanted to serve and love the kids, so that’s what I did. But the thing about Esperanza Viva is it’s SO BIG. The ministry itself is huge, and the vision that this place has of what they want to accomplish is even bigger. I found myself a little spoke in a great big wheel, and I started to get lost.

Like everyone, I have my own issues, and I let myself get wrapped up in them. Suddenly, my life was no longer about serving God-it was all about me, my worries and my concerns and my wardrobe (yes, I am that shallow. I know it’s a shock). When you’re a missionary, everything in your life is about serving God-almost everything I do is in some way or another, tied to the ministry. What I found out was that sometimes, when everything is about serving God, in the end nothing is. I was really good at rationalizing my behavior, but in my heart I knew I was messed up. Old attitudes and fears I used to have returned, and all I could think about was all of the things I had to do. I stopped doing the things I loved-running, playing with the kids, writing-because I was so wrapped up in the stress of all of the things I had going on and the drama of all of my worst issues slapping me in the face every day.

This is about the place I was in when I left for Nicaragua. I will be honest with you, I was at the point where I didn’t even want to go. I was exhausted, I wasn’t on speaking terms with God, and I didn’t want to contemplate even one more thing that I had to do. I was so done, and the last thing I wanted to do was get on a plane and go to a foreign country to hang out with people I didn’t know and do more work. I really had a stellar attitude going.

Us with Jerry the evening before we left
(left to right: Me, Miguel, Cecy, Jerry, Ruth)

Three of us from Esperanza Viva-Puebla went on the trip (myself, Ruth, and Miguel), along with another from Nations Church (Cecy). 
Well before the crack of dawn on Thursday we were on a bus to Mexico City, where we would be joined by Ita, who was coming from Esperanza Viva-Matamoros to round out our group to five. When we reached Nicaragua we would be joined by the other four members of our team, traveling from the United States and Nicaragua.

After some baggage issues and a couple of immigration forms, we were on our way to boarding our flight to Managua. As a resident of Mexico, I usually do not have to fill out immigration forms, since I have a green card and that is usually enough. However, the Benito Juarez Airport in Mexico City did not agree with me that my green card was “good enough,” which led to a very interesting run through Terminal 2 to get the right forms filled out and stamped to allow me to leave the country-right as my plane was about to leave! Thanks to God and lots of time running the field at Esperanza Viva, I made it. Shout out to the guy I may have knocked over-sorry about that…

The full group: back: Barefoot Scott, Jim, Joe,
Miguel, Danielle Front: Ruth, Cecy, Ita, Alisha

So: Nicaragua, everyone. It’s amazing. Beautiful. Sunny. There’s palm trees everywhere, and they have coconuts on them. The mountains are green, the sky is blue-really, what else could you want? The only thing that’s out of place is the desperate poverty a lot of people live in.

This is actually what I want to talk about. Living in Mexico, I have been known to think I have it rough. And it’s true, Mexico has its own issues. The government is corrupt, people are closed off from the gospel, there’s a lot of abuse of women and children, and there’s a lot of alcoholism, drugs, and drug trafficking. This is all true of Mexico. But there’s also paved roads a lot of the time, a functioning government, help for people in need, medical care, and all sorts of other things like Starbucks and Doritos and the Mac Store.

Those of you who have been to Mexico, (like, actual Mexico, and not Cancún or Acapulco), I want to you think about how you felt when you first saw what it’s like here. People living on the street, beggars, children doing tricks for coins at stoplights. Do you remember what you though? Do you remember the Lord starting to tug on your heart, and thinking of all of the things that you daily take for granted?

That was how I felt in Nicaragua.

I was shocked by the sudden realization of how good I had it in Mexico. I felt the Lord tugging on my heart for this place before I even actually met a Nicaraguan person. Something began stirring in me as soon as the plane touched down, and for the first time in a long time, I started to feel something besides exhaustion and stress. I felt hope.

The first couple of days of the trip were very relaxed. We all got to know one another in the group. Ruth and Cecy proved to be a good team, helping around the houses we stayed at and always willing to lend a hand in anything. Miguel was our pastor and worship leader, ready with a sermon or a song at all times. Ita was the photographer, and was charged with recording our journey for posterity and LHI Missions.

Relaxing in Dario

Aside from “us” Mexicans (you know, since I’m so Mexican), Jim came from Wisconsin, and provided us with pithy opinions and stories from missionary life in Mexico in the 80’s all week. Danielle came from Pennsylvania, and is possibly one of the sweetest people I have met in a long time. She was in charge of giving people prophetic words, ministering to them, and making people cry. Scott is from Texas, and was our contact man-the leader of the group and the person who knows everyone. Finally, Joe came from outside of Managua. He was our resident Nicaraguan, cultural guide, and comic relief for the trip.

Our first stop was the “city” (town may be a better word) of Darío, where the famous Nicaraguan poet Ruebén Darío was born. The game plan was simple. While we were there, we were going to do a service with a local bible school, do some evangelism around the city, and have another church service at a local church. Our schedule was pretty open, and made even more open by the Nicaraguan practice of not paying close attention to the clock. Over all, pretty simple, right?

The gentlemen

Ministry with the students

Wrong, dude. So wrong. Friday night brought us to the local Bible school, run by Ana Sara, a Swedish expatriate living in Nicaragua. She founded the school a few years ago, and accepts students from Nicaragua and Sweden once a year for their nine-month course of study. We showed up ready to minister to the students, they were there ready to minister to us, and in the middle of all of it, God showed up. It was amazing, being in that that room surrounded by voices calling out to God in different languages, all with the goal of knowing Him more, feeling His presence. That was the first time in a long time I felt something in me begin to break-in that room, worshiping God and praying for the students.

The next day, our first stop was to Pastor Jairo's house for lunch. I need to mention here, there were shishkabobs. With steak, AND pork, AND chicken. I’m not sure how many I ate, but I was happy. Actually, during the entire trip the food was beyond good. I’m amaze they didn’t have to roll us out of the country. We ate lunch with Jairo’s family and friends, and member of the church began showing up for the evangelism we were going to do. Since it had been decided that it was going to be more of a children’s thing, earlier in the day several member of the team had gone out to get a piñata.

I need to explain something here: Mexico invented the piñata, in case you didn’t know. We are a little snooty about them-there’s a whole process for making them, different style piñatas for different occasions, etc. It’s a whole thing. So when they came back with a poorly made piñata of Winnie-the-Pooh’s underfed brother, we were skeptical, to say in the least. Our skepticism grew as we opened up the bear to shove candy in him, only to find he was already full of newspaper. Ruth posed Jairo the million dollar question: Why was the piñata already stuffed? Jairo read between the lines: Why was this piñata so poorly made?

Our Pika-Pooh

In Nicaragua, Jairo explained to us, many people make piñatas to sell for side money. Many times the materials are inferior because that’s all they can afford. The pooh we had purchased was actually one of the better piñatas he had seen, Jairo commented, as the Mexican side of the team exchanged incredulous looks.

The insides were stuffed with newspaper, but there was enough space for a bit of candy, which was the most most people could afford. Unfortunately, it was not enough space for the eight bags of candy we had bought for the event, so Ruth and Cecy began removing newpaper from the unlikely piñata, which I dubbed Pika-Pooh, for his resemblance to both Winnie-the-Pooh and Picachu.

Once the bear was stuffed, Jairo mounted some speakers on the top of his pickup, called the kids to get ready, and we started walking. Jairo called through the speakers to all the children within hearing distance that there was a piñata to be broken, and they began to empty out of their houses in droves, bring parents, siblings, and pets with them. All the while, we continued to move around the poorer section of Darío, where the homes were made of corrugated sheet metal instead of stone, and the streets were dirt instead of pavement. Finally we stopped, and I realized what we had been looking for-somewhere to hang the piñata.

The rally began! With a crowd of about a hundred children and maybe thirty adults, the members of Jairo’s evangelism team put on a show for the kids with dances, skits, and songs. They gave prizes for the best pet and rounded the children up with several games. Several moments before everything had gotten started, Jairo had asked for someone to preach to the kids, and my team had graciously volunteered me, so when my turn came, I stood up and gave an epic recounting of the story of David and Goliath, completely with an ensemble cast of three children and an orange cat. And when it was all over, several children accepted Christ, and the crowd drew in to pray over them and their families. It was phenomenal, and all I remember thinking is, “this is what I was made to do.”

And when it was all done, we broke the piñata! I'm not going to lie to you, it was absolute insanity was every child wanted a chance to break what was actually a very fragile piñata. Before it was hung, I actually had to take some candy out of it and stash it in Joe's backpack, because it was too heavy to hang up with out ripping. When that piñata broke, the kids were showered with more candy than they may have ever seen, and I was shouting like a loon, "Break the head, break the head!" because there was even more in the piñata's paper cranium. Needless to say, it was utter and complete pandemonium, and completely wonderful.

After a service with Jairo’s church in the evening, we all piled into missionary Earl Ruttledge’s van and headed to the city of Matagalpa, where we would spend the remaining days of our trip.

Catch the next segment of the journey in the next Poverty Becomes You, to be published later this week!

Photo credit to LHI Missions, Ita Hernandez, and Joe D. Lope