Sand and Snow

Here I sit, my feet buried in the sand, a strong breeze keeping the heat of the day away. On the horizon, just blue water to see for miles all around. And though right here in this moment I feel comfortable and at peace, I was anything but yesterday. You see, we had to cross those miles of water to get from the main island to this one. On a tiny boat. Filled with too many people. In the rain. With waves that I swear were trying to kill us.

We made it though. Somehow.

I can tell you all the thoughts that we're going through my mind on that trip, because there honestly weren't that many. Most of it, a continuous, mumbling and repeated prayer: "Lord, give me strength. Give me strength. Give us strength. Help us get through this." or "Jesus, calm the storm like you’ve done before. Command the waves to be still. They know your voice, Jesus. They know you. They'll listen. Just tell them to stop!"  The rest of my thoughts were funny little observations like: "If I die now, how would anybody know?" or "Wow I lost my stomach on that one!" or "Would they leave me if I went overboard?" or "Holy crap, I think we cut through that wave" or "I don't know how we haven't capsized yet!"

My time was made even worse because of several different things: it was raining cats and dogs so in Nica fashion we held a plastic tarp over our heads to cover us--the problem: I'm not quite sure if it was big enough and the only thing that kept it in place was due to its human anchors beneath a.k.a. us. And more specifically, me. I had the honor of gripping that tarp in a vice grip that made my hands cramp, my arms shake, and soaked my entire body (especially the exposed arms) in ocean spray and rain. On the bright side, I think everyone else who wasn't an anchor stayed fairly dry. Second problem of the trip: I got separated from my group since it was a mad dash to grab a seat and we were slow on the get-go. So, I had to suffer the voyage solo. Which maybe was a good thing given the embarrassing expression I'm sure was plastered on my face. The final problem: I truly am scared of small boats when there is an ever looming threat of drowning. A few summers back I had a close call that involved a paddle boat and so now my mind jumps from PEACE to TERROR in milliseconds when I'm in a similar situation. I don't let it keep me from going, no way. I just freak out a little bit (cough a lot) during the trip. No biggie. After this trip, everything else will seem like Disneyland.

So what did I learn? To boil it down: that God had me in the palm of his hand the whole time. He did indeed stop the rain. He did indeed give me the strength to hold onto that tarp, even when the winds threatened to rip it out of my weak grasp. He did indeed keep us from succumbing to the ginormous waves. Those sailors knew their boat, they knew the sea, they knew the waves. If I was driving, well, that would be a whole different story that I'm sure would end in either a tragedy or a miracle. In all, I learned that through my fear I can rely on God to carry me.  I can put all my faith in him to keep me safe. I know it sounds a bit melodramatic but I truly believe God guided our little boat that day. And I am so glad he did.

Now, I have the return trip to look forward to. I feel slightly more confident this time, kind of like the idiot who goes bungee jumping a second time.  A stupid confidence maybe. But I know that God will guide us. And I'm going to find a better seat this time around.

Next week, instead of warm sand that hugs my toes, it will be icy cold snow that envelops my well-guarded feet. And though I may not know the exact manner of adventure I will find between here and there, I know that I can go in the confidence in God that he will get me there! Somehow.

Stay tuned!

Thy Kingdom Come

This week, the United Nations finally found that the North Korean government has been violating the rights of its people and is calling for an inquiry into human rights abuses that have gone on under Kim Jong Un’s dictatorship.  This week, riots, peaceful marches and protesting have been carried out all over Mexico as thousands of people come together to seek justice for the unexplained disappearance of 43 students.  This week, yet more women have come forward claiming to have been raped many years ago by one of our nation’s role models: Bill Cosby.

And this is just one week out of 52 this year, a year where we’ve seen civil unrest and violence break out in the Ukraine, outbreaks of Ebola spread around the globe, the disappearance of Malaysian Airlines Flight 370 along with all her passengers as well as the shot-down of Flight 17 by Ukrainian missiles, escalated fighting in the Gaza strip between Israel and Palestine, rising tensions between the United States and Russia, 276 women and girls kidnapped and held hostage in Nigeria, the countless murders and destruction led by ISIS militants in order to dominate parts of the Middle East, Robin William’s shocking suicide, the migration of thousands of unaccompanied children from Central America inundating the U.S. border, and the large break out of riots in Ferguson in protest after the shooting of the young man, Michael Brown.

Wow.

Remembering all of this has shocked me into sitting in silence, taken aback at how violent a race we can be.  How can such blatant violence exist in society?  How can government -sanctioned torture 

and murder go unpunished?  How can the world turn a blind eye to the Truth?

Easy.

If my backyard is clean and pretty, why should I care what my neighbor’s backyard looks like as long as there’s a fence there blocking my view?  No harm, no foul.

I’m poor.  Why should I waste my resources and energy and money on others when I can barely support myself?  I need to focus on what’s important here.

No one will listen to me, of all people.  Let’s be honest, I’m a nobody.  I have no power, no fame, no means to do anything.  So why should I fight an uphill battle and waste everybody’s time not actually accomplishing anything?  It’s just not logical.

Ok, wait a second.  What will it cost me?  Will it be safe?  I don’t want to jeopardize my life here.  Going out to save someone from suffering and then suffering myself wouldn’t make much sense.  In fact, that’s like increasing the problem.

Hold up, we very well can’t go around forcing our beliefs on others or offend them with our beliefs or anything.  It’s not our place!  If we all want our freedom then we have to respect others in their freedoms.  As long as it doesn’t infringe on my rights.  Then I’m calling the police.

What violence?  We live in a democratic world, not the dark ages!  Hitler died ages ago.  That kind of stuff doesn’t happen anymore.  Besides in Africa or the Middle East, but that’s different.  Seriously, I don’t know where you get your facts from but you can’t listen to anything from the news or on the internet.  They’re all lies.

Well, we don’t live in a perfect world.  There will always be violence and suffering.  As long as it’s over there and distracted by its own success over there then I will be fine with my better than normal life over here.  Besides, why fight humanity, our very essence?  You can’t change who we are.

See?

Deep down, our tainted hearts and minds cloud the goodness and purity of our Creator-given souls.  

We can’t escape it.  Actually, we don’t want to.  It’s easier (and safer) to blow out the candle than to protect its fire.

Apathy is the death of life, not hate.  Ignorance is the death of humanity, not violence.  Arrogance is the death of goodness, not malice. 

We are our own worst enemies.  So in whom can we rely?

Lord, this world is just too heavy to bear anymore.  Why can we not look at our neighbor and see your face looking back at us?  Why does our sinful nature always have to clamp itself around our neck like a heavy chain, weighing us down so that goodness lies just out of our reach?  Why can’t we break free?

I know, Lord, you have set us free and one day we will be whole again.  I know.  And yet this wait is so painful, Father, so painful. 

And so I pray today, Father, for all of us.  I pray that our hearts of stone may be shattered by your light.  I pray that we your people may step forth, hand in hand, and boldly go out to recklessly love those we find along the way.  I pray that we may embrace both our friend and our enemy.  I pray that we speak loud and act even louder.  I pray that we will not be silent in the face of violence, that we will seek both justice and mercy.  Above all, I pray that we will give you all the glory and all the honor in our every waking moment.   

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done.

And please may it come soon!

Amen.

Stay tuned!

Border Buddies but not Best Friends

Once again I found myself sitting in the semi-comfortable seat of a bus, patiently enduring the long hours of the ride ahead of me.  I have had more than my fair share of long bus rides in the recent past and yet here I was again.  But, it was for a good cause, I kept telling myself.  It had been almost a year since I had last stepped foot on Costa Rican soil.  I had no idea what to expect.  I was both excited for this trip and at the same time a little bit afraid—what if things were really different from what I remembered?  Could I lead this group of students confidently enough?  Well, yes.  To put it simply.

The week flew by and there was simply too much packed into the week for me to share every dirty detail.  So, consider this a short commercial of our trip, complete with highlights (and lowlights) and a bonus “But wait!  There’s more” section:

• We spent a luxurious 4 nights and 5 days in a b-e-a-utiful campus of Whitworth, located in the mountains near San Rafael and the Barva volcano.  Let me just say, it was chilly and gorgeous.  I actually wanted to drink hot tea and coffee and wear my scarves!  I snuggled in down and fleece blankets, enjoyed the fresh air and hikes in the woods, soaked in the vista of the shining stars above, reveled in the hot showers, and melted in the heat from the various bonfires we had.  Bliss, pure bliss.

• So, at some point or another, 6 out of 7 of my students were sick on this trip, some severely so.  It got so bad at one point I needed to take 3 of them in to see a doctor.  Good news: they’ll live.  Bad news: some may or may not have had a nasty bug known as Chikungunya (similar to Dengue).  More good news: I didn’t get sick J
• We went to a plant, waterfall, and animal reserve one morning.  It put all of the other zoos I’ve been to to shame.  Sorry guys, but La Paz Waterfall Gardens wins hands down.  So, if you find your way to Costa Rica be sure to visit this place!  We also had a chance to have a tour of a coffee cooperative and learn lots about coffee.  It’s a cooperative of over 2,500 coffee farmers and is big enough to sell their product to not only Costa Rican customers but also to big wigs like Starbucks and Caribou Coffee.  To sum it up: it was delicious.  Oh, and educational.
  
• We had s’mores one evening.  ‘nuff said.
• We learned more about the immigration situation in Costa Rica, both in the form of a documentary as well as a presentation given by a Costa Rican who works with immigrants and natives and their housing situation.  It was extremely enlightening for me—I had lived there and had always heard about how Nicaraguans flooded to Costa Rica during the harvest seasons of coffee and others crops but I never really knew more than that.  There is definitely this viewpoint that’s prevalent among Costa Ricans that the Nicaraguans are coming in and stealing their jobs and increasing the violence in the nation and stealing and destroying all their resources.  The statistics don’t support these myths, however, but I don’t think those beliefs are going to disappear overnight.  People have a way of editing the truth to suit their beliefs.  Actually, the whole situation between Nicaragua and Costa Rica reminds me a lot about the situation between the U.S. and Mexico.  Same stereotypes, same prejudices, same myths, same push factors, same third wheel that’s often forgotten about (cough cough Canada and Panama).  In both cases, we may share a border but obviously that doesn’t make us best friends.
• While I was there I also had a brief chance to visit some of my old friends, people who I miss dearly.  I truly appreciate the few hours I had with them but I crave so much more.  I will be going back next year to make it up to them and myself.  I will also buy more coffee and chocolate covered coffee beans—it’s a tradition I will not break J

But wait!  There’s more!  Did you know that medium roast coffee has more caffeine than an espresso?  Did you know that a toucan’s feet are actually soft and warm?  Did you know that butterflies like Enya music (ok don’t quote me on this one but they were definitely playing Enya in the butterfly garden)?  Did you know that tour guides, translators and drivers can get in free to almost every tourist location and restaurant in Costa Rica if they’re leading a group?  Did you know that pine trees and palm trees can in fact coexist in the same habitat?  Did you know that I can’t tell if I like Costa Rica or Nicaragua better, that both of them hold a special place in my heart?  Well, now you do!

That’s all for now.  Stay tuned!

Only in Nicaragua

So many times I am asked the question: “So what are the differences you see between here and where you’re from?”  Such a loaded question, one I’m sure I don’t have an adequate or well-researched answer for.  Nonetheless, I never want to disappoint my interrogator so I come up with something to avoid creating an awkward silence: “Well, the weather for one thing.”  “The people here seem to be more open, more hospitable.”  “Spanish, duh.”  “Time—everything takes longer here.”  And once I start thinking of things the easier it gets to come up with more and more examples.  Surprisingly, I notice more about the culture and life here than I think I do!  Please don’t quote me and please don’t consider my list extensive, but I thought I’d share with you some things that I’ve witnessed that you could say are “Only in Nicaragua.”

• 3-5 people on a motorcycle, or two people and a bicycle on a motorcycle, or two people and propane tanks or mattresses or piping or whatever—this is completely normal.  If you need to get somewhere with something, those two wheels are sufficient enough.  Every time I see this I am more and more impressed by the universal talent Nicaraguans seem to have in balancing things.
• Eating potatoes and rice in the same meal, sometimes even mixed together.  Here, they seem to be complimentary foods, not two starches of the same bland color and taste.
• It’s 90+ degrees outside and everyone’s wearing jeans.  It’s just what they do.
• Saying adios in greeting, even though technically it means goodbye.  Think of it as aloha.
• Showing up to an event 15-30 minutes late is definitely arriving on time.  Any earlier and you’d be rushing things.  Any later and you’re rude to the host.
• Fireworks at 4 in the morning—it’s Saint What’s-His-Name’s Day after all (sorry, I don’t want to sound rude to the Catholics out there and their traditions—there are just a TON of them here and I never remember who we’re celebrating).  And while we’re on the subject, random parades of school children and marching bands and religious icons that randomly block off streets at random times during the day.
• Wearing a hot pink patterned shirt, blue skinny jeans, and red high heels OR a teal blue hair tie with teal blue eye make-up with a teal tank top with teal shoes—clashing or being matchy-matchy don’t seem to be very strong concepts here.  You wear what you like.
• Running to catch the bus, which is often a really colorful school bus decorated with streamers and filled to the brim with way too many passengers.  Somehow, they will find a way to fit that one last person.
• Adding a healthy spoonful of sugar to your cup of milk (and by healthy I do not in fact mean healthy.  I mean huge.).  In fact, adding a whopping amount of sugar to any beverage: juice, coffee, tea, milk, etc.
• Have community guards who bike around all throughout the night and whistle at your door every hour to let you know they are doing the job you are paying them for.  It’s really loud.
• Greeting people with nicknames such as “fatty” (gordita) or “black skin” (negra) or “white skin” (chela) or “asian looking” (chino), etc.  These names are descriptive, not offensive.
• Street dogs by the dozens, most with ribs showing and many with some injury or other. Apparently they never received Bob Barker’s spay and neuter advice.
• Listening to two or more types of music at the same time—one from your phone, another from your TV, another from the radio… you get the idea.  Basically, loud music means you’re happy.
• Drinking juice, pop, or water out of a bag—a treat you can buy from street vendors.  Just pop in a straw or bite a hole in the corner and you’re good to go.
• Cars driving by loudly advertising things, from upcoming events to goods for sale to announcements of deaths.  Think of it as moving audible billboards.
• Cold showers because it’s too hot for anything else.
• Eating a ginormous bowl of HOT chicken soup for lunch, also known as the hottest part of the day.  No further comment.
• Uneven cobblestone streets, even more uneven sidewalks, and colorfully painted adobe houses that may or may not be in a constant state of crumbling.  If you have nothing else to say, the architecture here is beautiful.
• Etc., etc., etc.

Now of course it would be crazy of me to claim that you could only find these things in Nicaragua.  My point here is that they are so foreign to my culture back home and take me by surprise every time.  When I travel this is one of the joys I look forward to encountering: new (and sometimes crazy) ways of living. 

What are some of the crazy and cool things you’ve seen on your travels?

On a final note, I will not be able to write next week as I will be with the SPIN students on their semester trip to Costa Rica.  I’m going back!  Please be with us as we travel and learn and experience what Costa Rica has to offer. 

Also, it’s my birthday on Friday.  Boo-yah.

Stay tuned!

Dominoes

Dominoes.  For me, this week, it all came down to dominoes.  I happen to be a very perceptive person who is prone to scrutinizing things.  Better said, I am not very good at accepting things at face value.  This week, though, I seemed to be noticing more and more of the negative things around me: the way friendships were breaking, organizations were missing the point, people were failing, Christians were failing.  An all-around disappointment in life started to occupy my mind, first one thing, then another, then another.  Domino after domino fell and before I knew it I had entire path of fallen dominoes in my wake and I became stuck on this path of negativity.  And, worse yet, it was starting to manifest itself physically.  Usually I can hide it.  But not always.  I became grumpier, less animated, my conversations were forced at best.  And people were beginning to take notice.

How do I get my miserable self out of this entangled sticky web of negativity?

Well, not by myself, that’s for sure.

In those moments, I was too lost in my own vortex of sour thinking that I failed to realize the vast amount of Peace and Joy within my reach.  I was so blinded by my darkness that I failed to see the Light reaching out to me.  But then it all changed—I was lost and blind, but was rescued and given sight!  And it happened to come in the most normal of ways—a song.  I happened to be listening to Rend Collective Experiment’s version of “10,000 reasons” (listen to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPI_DIqICP0).  Let’s just say it was a healthy dose of spiritual reality and it brought me back to the reason I’m alive at all: my Creator made me, my Savior liberated me, my Spirit inspires me. 

Since that song, God has step by step guided me back into the joyful light of his presence, a place where I can rejoice and sing of the more than 10,000 reasons I am blessed today.  Here I’ll share with you a few of the things God placed into my life this week:

Proverbs 3:5-6:

“Do not depend on your own understanding.  Seek His will in all you do, and He will show you which path to take” (NLT). 

My devotions from yesterday:

“I, the Creator of the universe, am the most creative Being imaginable.  I will not leave you circling in deeply rutted paths.  Instead, I will lead you along fresh trails of adventure, revealing to you things you did not know.  Stay in communication with Me.  Follow My guiding Presence” (Sarah Young, Jesus Calling, p. 314). 

My Bible study on Gideon:

“Gideon could have avoided this domino effect… Continuing a vibrant fellowship with God would have kept him on course with divine purpose…Seeking God and His will must remain our constant desire and aspiration… When the dominoes of life cave in, our level of steadiness will be equal to our level of fellowship with the Father” (Priscilla Shirer, Gideon, pp. 144-145). 

Finally, from 2 Corinthians 4: 6-9:

“For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of God’s glory displayed in the face of Christ.  But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us.  We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed” (NIV). 

I stand here (or rather sit here) amazed at how God speaks to me, lending his Divine voice to guide my wavering feet.  I may not always hear His voice (I may at times listen harder to the white noise of life that drowns out His voice) but I do know that he is always speaking to me: in nature, in people, in Scripture, in art, in life.  She who has an ear, let her hear His voice calling out to His beloved children.

Stay tuned!

Honesty as Policy

Photo: courtesy of Sarah Davies

Yesterday I read a Proverb that sort of hit me right in the face with its words.  In fact, I think I still have a blotchy red mark on my forehead as evidence of the forced interaction.  The reason it hurt so much is because, once again, it was talking directly to me, right now in this very moment.  Here it is:

Better is open rebuke

Than hidden love.

Wounds from a friend can be trusted,

But an enemy multiplies kisses.

Proverbs 27:5-6

After reading this, my mind jumps first to the people around me, trying to decipher who beside me is in fact an enemy multiplying kisses.  But I can deal with people like that—in fact, I enjoy trying to understand the people around me and figuring out what makes them tick, where their motivation comes from, why they want to be with me.  I’m used to guessing between friend and foe.  It’s a task that’s as natural to me as brushing my teeth or breathing—I do it unconsciously and before I know it, I have a profile of someone in my head labeling them as “friend”, “foe” or “unknown: requires more research”. 

So that’s not what hurt when I read this proverb.  What hurt was the thought: “What if I’m an enemy?”

I think back to all the times where I held my tongue, where I guarded my silence, where I held back from telling the truth.  My reason?  I didn’t want to hurt anyone.  I didn’t want to rock the boat and create waves.  I didn’t want to tread on anyone’s toes.  I didn’t want to wound my friends and become their enemy. 

But what if, because I held back, I actually hurt them more than if I had told the truth?  What if my gentle rebuke was more needed than my fake kisses?  What if they needed to hear the truth and I had denied them that?

It’s a weird thought, thinking that I have failed my friends by keeping quiet or by saying what they wanted to hear.  It’s weird that my silence effectively buried my love for them, hidden behind a façade of empty kindness. 

Apparently, to love does not equate painlessness.  Love hurts. 

And, if the love is true, love hurts both the giver and the receiver.  Think about it: in the moment where a friend gently rebukes her friend, both are pained by the experience.  The giver of the rebuke has exposed herself and has put herself in the vulnerable position that’s open for rejection.  The receiver of the rebuke has more obviously been hurt as the words of truth delve straight into her heart and mind, a sword of truth that pierces through the strongest armor. 

Knowing this, it’s no wonder we hold our tongues and say nothing!  It’s no wonder we hide our love and multiply our kisses.  We do it out of self-preservation and fear of rejection, even if the life we begin to live is full of lies. 

But words of honesty shouldn’t hurt in a way that is harmful or destructive.  I’m reminded of Eustace in C.S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia series.  Eustace had built up such a thick skin around himself (manifested quite literally in the form of scaly dragon skin), a façade of superiority and selfishness that masked his true inner self.  Only Aslan, with his claws of Truth, could shed him of the skin.  “The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt.  The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off “ (The Voyage of the Dawn Treader).  Shedding lies and accepting Truth hurts, but it’s what we need. 

So, be a truth-bearer today and be honest to your friends and the people around you.  Tell them how much they mean to you; warn them against temptation; admit how they have hurt you; encourage them to be better; pray with and for them.  Love them by saying the Truth.

And ask them to be the same honest friend to you. 

Stay tuned!

More passages about Truth-speaking and gentle rebuking: Matthew 18:15-17, John 8:32, 2 Timothy 3:16-17, Ephesian 4:15-16 and 25, Galatians 6:1, 1 John 3:18, Hebrews 4:12, Revelation 3:19.

The Power of Eye Contact

Let’s admit it, I stick out.  I may know my way around the city; I may speak Spanish with ease and little accent; I may know how to order my favorite food; I may know how to drink juice out of a bag; I may cross the street without getting run over by a bus, bike, or car; I may live here and have made friends with the neighbors.  BUT I still stick out.  Why?

I walk too fast.  I dress differently.  I smell of sunscreen.  I act more reserved and controlled.  Most of all, I have bright blue eyes.

And, though I love my blue eyes, those little twinkling gifts can actually turn out to be little curses sometimes.  Why?  Because it makes me stand out even more than I want to.  Guys on the street flirt and cat-call all the more at me if they catch the blue glint of my eyes.  Children frequently ask me if I would trade my eyes for theirs.  Every time I wear contacts instead of my glasses women are so surprised by the intensity of the blueness of my eyes and it end up being a frequent conversation topic.  There was even a little girl who was afraid of me for a while because of my blue eyes.  Here, in a land of dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes my blue orbs are foreign invaders.  They don’t belong. 

But you know what?  That’s ok.

Why?  Because I’ve learned to use my eyes instead of being ashamed of them.  With a short nod of my head, I can catch a taxi, tricycle, mototaxi, or bus.  With quick eye contact I acknowledge the presence of my neighbors, those I pass on the street, my friends.  With a smile of my eyes, I can get the cashier, the market vendor, a child to return my smile.  My eyes, combined with my accent, can even give me some power in a bartering situation (I mean, who wouldn’t want to give me a lower price?!)

Truly, eye contact can be very powerful.

Think of it in the reverse: if I never looked at anyone, what would that be like?  Well, that Kelsey would walk down the street, looking at nothing but her toes hitting the uneven and cracked pavement.  She would be oblivious to the world around her, the many families and friends sitting on their doorsteps, chit-chatting away.  She would miss the opportunity to amicably say “adios” to her neighbors and those she passed on the street.  She would stick out as an unfriendly gringa who didn’t have the time or care to even make eye contact with other human beings.  By withholding her gaze of others around her, she would be quietly yelling to everyone that they are not worth her time or acknowledgement.  That Kelsey would be “fría” or “cold”.  In the end, she would be alone in her own self-inflicted bubble of isolation.

Needless to say, I do not want to be that Kelsey.

So, I will shamelessly walk this Nicaraguan city with my blue eyes wide open.  I will unabashedly make eye contact with friends and strangers alike.  I will look and smile and see and be a part of this world around me.  I will get more whistles, more looks, more comments BUT I will also look back, make comments and acknowledge the life, the people, that God has placed in my life today.

Stay tuned!

Sunrise, Sunset

This past week I had the opportunity to spend a few days living in the campo (or countryside) here in rural Nicaragua in a community known as la Manantial with the SPIN students.  The lifestyle of the campo is one of simplicity, dependent on acres of crops like maize and wheat to sustain them throughout the year.  Rain is scarce, especially during this time of drought.  Time in the campo follows not a watch but the sun and the rain.  Neighbors are a short walk away, church an hour away, and high school twice that distance.  It’s a very different world than that of urban Nicaragua. 

For me, the trip brought me back to my roots, not necessarily of my heritage back in “the boonies” of Michigan, but instead of my humanity.  For these few short days, I was stripped of many things I had become dependent on, things I’ve even gone so far as to incorporate into my identity as Kelsey.  For who is Kelsey without electricity, 8 hours of sleep, two pillows, a hot shower and internet?  Well, come to find out, Kelsey is still Kelsey without all those things.  I slept in a hammock and shared a bed; I ate beans and rice for three days straight and fresh baked bread out of an earthen stove; I used an outhouse and a bucket shower; I weeded, dug in the mud, and spread fertilizer; I went to bed with the sunset and woke up with the light.  Being in the country where the sun was the only source of light and where food was grown in the fields nearby, I was reminded of who I am and what I truly need.  Turns out, I don’t need as much as I thought I did.  In fact, I think I like this simpler Kelsey.

(Left to right): Guillermo, Marta, Douglas, Me, Bethany, Alma, Juan Carlos

And so I want to thank Marta, Guillermo, Ismael, and little Douglas (who stole my heart) who were so generous to accept me into their home for a few nights and take me under their wing.  It was a great experience, one I’d be happy to repeat.

A while back, while I was spending some time traveling around Guatemala last year, I wrote a little something after I briefly glimpsed the lives of people living near the city dump.  Though very different, their story reminds me a little bit of the stories I heard of those living in la Manantial: a story of simplicity (at times true poverty) and a story of community (of being with those you love).  So I’d like to share with you what I wrote that one evening:

“Sun glistens, a dazzling display of energy dancing on the rooftops, blinding those with a mere glance.  The metallic tin now a mosaic of reds, oranges, blues, grays, and browns, stained by time and rain.  The walls it protects below stand sturdy, their dusty gray selves supporting the artwork above.  To the front, a sandy brown path caresses the walls, ruts and ravines washed away here and there by foot traffic and heavy waters, its uneven surface wavelike and wild.

Within those stony blocks, beneath that sun-warmed roof, beside that well-worn path, there lives a family of many.  Children with eyes bright and wide, filled with questions, hunger, and laughter.  A mother with hands wrinkled deep with love, wisdom, and hard work.  A grandmother whose every gray hair holds a story of pain, laughter, love and loss.

Their veins run fast with the blood of the forgotten, the lost, the hurt.  Their lungs expand as they breathe in a deep breath, second by second living the reality that faces them.  Today, a day so bright and beautiful and alive, holds within its grasp dark threads of doubt, abandonment, abuse and death, threads that cannot be cut from the loom of life.  

Stepping back, those strands etch a deep beauty in the colorful display of the woven masterpiece, their inky rivers flowing to and fro, cutting a striking current among the blocks of reds, blues, yellows and greens. 

In this masterpiece there is joy and sadness, light and dark, life and death. 

And though difficult, the darkest parts make the brighter parts shine. The dark gives the light its name.  Its fuel.  Its hope.  Its beauty.

But what if I live in a world surrounded by the chaotic swirl of a rainbow?  What if my life is enveloped in the colorful embrace of life?  What if my world doesn't extend to the darker strands hidden afar on the horizon?

Am I really living then?

Can I truly appreciate the beauty I'm immersed in every day if I have not yet tasted the other?

And what if, because of this, the colors around me are fading, disintegrating as the seconds pass?  What if instead I am trapped in a world of grays, bonded by the monotone dullness of apathy, suffocated by nothingness?

In truth, the only color in this masterpiece lies next to the inky rivers, the places linked with those dark strands.  Only those who've tripped on those strands, whose feet have blackened in those waters, whose lives have been ripped, torn, infected have within their grasp those colorful strands of life.  Only those who have been lost, hurt, abandoned, or broken can see the hope and beauty in the rainbow around them.

Only their eyes have been opened.

For they were lost but have now been found.

They were once blind but now they see.

The sun glistens again, radiating in its setting brilliance.  The metallic roof joins in the light dance, reflecting the rays in a blinding display.  The walls begin to cool, their source of heat returning to its slumber.  The path grows quiet, its dusty shores darken with the approaching night.

The children curl up together in their nest of blankets, feet, hands, and sleepy eyed faces.  The mother coos a gentle lullaby, rocking to a steady rhythm of love and peace.  The grandmother joins her daughter, head resting ever so gently on her shoulder.  The night comes, weary eyes flutter and close, chests rise and fall in their nightly drumbeat of sleep. 

The day has come to an end; tomorrow shall begin anew."

Stay tuned!

#GodisWithMe

Yesterday was Independence Day here in Nicaragua, a day the whole country takes time to fully celebrate.  Everyone has Monday and Tuesday off of work and school, providing a great opportunity to take part in the celebrations and spend time with family and friends.  Hundreds upon hundreds of people lined the streets as parades wandered through town all throughout the weekend.  These parades featured every school in the city with school children walking and performing in marching bands.  The deep rhythms of the drums and the loud bangs of fireworks could be heard everywhere.  As the saying goes, the louder things are the happier it is!

On a different note, I have recently joined a women’s Bible study and I have to share with you what a blessing it has become for me during my week.  I was a bit dubious at first, considering I’d be the youngest participant by quite a bit, but I decided to jump in feet first and see where it would take me.  Well, I didn’t quite expect to be so surprised, that’s for sure!  The reason: we are studying Gideon.  You know, the guy who challenged God with his whole fleece thing and got away with it.  And then there was something about some guys lapping up water out of a river and then only some being chosen to fight against a big army and win by tricking the bad guys into thinking they were goners.  Or something like that.  Basically, my idea of Gideon going into this was that he was one lucky (and recklessly bold) guy who valiantly saved his people. 

Come to find out, he wasn’t the valiant warrior type.  Not at first anyway.

In Judges 6, we first meet Gideon while he is threshing wheat.  In a winepress.  Which is kind of like a cave.  Ok, so Gideon was in hiding from some bad guys who were picking on Israel in the hopes they wouldn’t steal his food.  But the angle of the Lord nevertheless chooses to visit with this man: “… The Lord is with you, mighty warrior.” (vs. 6)  Um, did I miss something?  Isn’t the angel of the Lord talking to Gideon, a lowly man (he says this himself in verse 12) who is acting a bit cowardly right at the moment, hiding in his bat cave?  I wonder how Gideon reacted.  Did he cough in surprise?  Snort in derision?  Scoff at the preposterous nature of it?  Stare in stunned silence?  Well, we don’t know how he reacted physically but we do know he doesn’t say anything.  He sort of ignores it and then goes on to complain to this mighty angel that God couldn’t be with them if all this bad stuff was happening.  Take that, angel of God.  What do you have to say for yourself?

If we keep reading, we see that Gideon gets a quick lesson in just how wrong he is.  God had never abandoned Israel—they had abandoned God. 

I have to say, I’m a bit jealous of Gideon.  Not that I necessarily want to be oppressed by enemies or thresh wheat in a windless cave or be chosen to lead an army into battle or anything, but it would be nice to hear from an angel’s mouth that God is with me.  That would be sure to calm my doubting mind.  But, even if I don’t hear those words like Gideon did, I have faith that the truth of them still rings true today.  God is with me, through the power of Jesus’ sacrifice and the gift of the Holy Spirit.  “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28: 20).  I experience God in a whole different way than Gideon did.  I wonder if he’d be jealous of me…

At the end of each lesson, we are given the opportunity to create hashtag statements of things we learned.  A hashtag (popularly used on social media outlets like Twitter) is simply a word or group of words that express something.  Like #KelseyRocks or #VivaNicaragua or #WaylandCRC.  So, I’d like to recap today with a few hashtags of my own of things I learned from Gideon:

#GodIsWithMe

#GodUsestheOrdinary

#BeAwareofGod’sVoice

#LessonsfromGideon

#StayTuned!!

Time Flies by Slowly

Time is kind of funny, I think.  We as humans (a.k.a. wannabe control freaks of a universe beyond our understanding and control) like to pretend that time is linear.  You know, like past, present, future.  Yesterday, today, tomorrow.  Before, now, later.  We break down our linear friend into simple pieces that can be controlled and manipulated to our liking: years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds.  And this is a great comfort to us because this way time makes sense. 

But what about those times where time doesn’t follow our rules?  Like when the minutes seem to drag on, as if its feet are trapped in sticky molasses preventing it from moving forward?  You know, like when you’re in math class and you’re waiting for the bell to ring, or when you’re waiting for a bus and you keep checking your watch every three seconds in exasperated “patience”.  The seconds seem to tick by ever so slowly, laughing at your impatience.  Or, what about those times where our lives flash before our very eyes and we seemingly jump from one moment to another?  Like when we’re driving long distances on familiar roads or when we swear we’ve only fallen asleep for “three seconds” on the couch in a quick cat-nap.  In those moments we begin to think that time travel is indeed possible.  Or what about those moments where time seems to be moving fast and slow at the same time?  Like when you’re in an accident or when you’re getting married or when you are giving a speech in front of an audience.  Every detail becomes so clear and unclear when times flies by slowly like that.

Seriously, time doesn’t seem very linear or controllable in those moments. 

Flooding at the Nehemiah Center
(pic from Centro Nehemias Facebook page)

One of the peaks at Volcan Masaya

Well, this past week has been a great lesson in how weird time can be.  The week literally flew by, with activity after activity after activity.  Wednesday evening the SPIN students (from Dordt and Geneva) flew in to Managua, where we were there to greet them.  However, our plans were thrown into flux as the Nehemiah Center experienced some serious flooding from storms the night before.  Some of our resources were muddied and ruined by the flooding, but thankfully not all of them.  We also needed to move the students and the days of orientation to a different guest house in Managua—talk about last minute planning!  But everything went well despite the many challenges we faced.  We spent several hours orienting the students to their new lives here in Nicaragua, everything from schedules to culture shock to living with host families.  We tried to break up the monotony with fun ice-breakers and games, like a relay race doing some very typical Nicaraguan activities like drinking pop out of a bag and making tortillas by hand.  I would say the highlight of our orientation time in Managua was the small tour we had of the capital city: we saw the Masaya volcano, Somoza’s ruined mansion and the Sandino statue placed atop it, the lake front and boardwalk at Puerto Salvador Allende, and the old Cathedral and plaza.  

SPIN Welcoming Party

On Sunday after church we traveled to León and introduced the students to their host families with a great welcoming party, a fun time for the families to come together and welcome their new son or daughter to their homes.  Yesterday, the students were divided into exploration teams and spent the day in a Scavenger Hunt of León, racing the other teams to find key landmarks and information.  It was a fun (and hot) way of quickly getting to know the city they’ll be spending the next 3 months in.  By the end of the week, we were all exhilarated by the new sites, people and information but also exhausted by it.  I feel like I’ve lived an entire month in just one week!

In fact, I might just go take a siesta.

Stay tuned!

Foreign to Familiar: A Strange Journey

Here I stand, a foreigner in the midst of a joyous throng of Nicaraguans.  Hands raised high, my neighbors sway and dance, much like an anemone under water (though less tranquil I suppose).  They sing praises to the One above, thanking Him for life, love and hope.  I join in song, my tongue stumbling on the Spanish words that are on the projector screen.  I clap and I sway just like my neighbors, but I know that in reality I stick out like a sore thumb. 

My eyes become momentarily distracted by the elderly man sitting next to me: skin dark and leathery with age and sun exposure, his eyes closed in prayer, his mouth moving in song, his hands raised high to feel the Spirit in this place.  He does not notice me, a stranger, sitting next to him.  He is completely absorbed in the moment, worshipping the God he loves.  Inspired, I decide to join him.

In this moment, I feel peace.  I don’t feel awkward that I am an outsider; I don’t feel weird that this is definitely not my style of worship; I don’t feel unwelcome in the slightest.  In this moment, I know that this is where I need to be. 

The church I had this experience at is my host family’s church, Rosa de Sarón.  It’s a large church with a few hundred members, and is located right next to one of the biggest outdoor markets here in León.  To put it simply, it’s a bustling center of energy and movement, both inside the church and outside.  For the next while, I’ve decided that this is the church God wants me to be at.  The 3 hour long services seem daunting, as does the heat, but when I feel that sense of belonging I’ve learned not to question it :)

I have to say, I still feel like a traveler in a foreign land.  But, each and every day I feel myself growing used to my surroundings.  I’m no longer startled by strange sights, like 3 people on a motorcycle.  I am no longer taken aback by strange noises and smells, like fireworks and outdoor markets (which are smelly, let me tell you).  I am no longer unnerved by strange places, like my room, my home, my neighborhood, my city.  Nicaragua is growing on me, folks.  And what a strange feeling that is!  To know that I am on this journey of living a new life here, waiting patiently until the day where everything seems familiar.  My journey from foreign to familiar is a long and sometimes strange one, filled with many curves and hills and sudden detours.  But, I know that if I stay on this path, I will eventually reach my destination: belonging.  So, lace up your boots!  There’s a long walk ahead of us :)

This week, the Dordt students arrive for their semester abroad here in Nicaragua.  To say the least, I am excited!  This is what I’ve been preparing for these past 2 months and I find myself giddy with anticipation and worried with last minute details.  These next two weeks or so are going to feel like a never ending marathon, running from one obstacle to the next.  

Please pray for safe travels for the students as well as for endurance, patience, and joy for all of us during these exciting moments of change and newness. 

Stay tuned!

Calm the Storm

From  http://trojanhorsecollective.com/conversations-with-my-storm/ 

There’s a storm, of dust and dirt, swirling in a chaos of grays and browns.  Lightning dances within the darkness to the beat of thunder’s drums.  Rain falls like shards of glass.  The wind howls, crying out and moaning as if in pain. 

Let’s call this storm the current state of my mind.  The dirt is my thoughts, the lightning is my ideas, the thunder is my desires, the rain is my emotions, and the wind, well the wind is the voice of others calling out to me like a siren’s song.

Now, imagine this storm has been suddenly trapped inside a little glass bottle.  Cork in place, the roaring chaos is but a muted whisper.  Its strength has not gone—it rages on as if nothing has happened.  And yet, on the outside, is has been silenced.  This glass bottle is the mask I wear, hiding the reality hidden underneath.

Despite the peaceful and confident mask I wear, I feel in this very moment weighted down by the storm in my mind and heart.  I feel stalked by the dark things in this world, things we combat fiercely with news reporters, Facebook posts and #hashtags: sex slavery, gang violence, drug trafficking, hate crimes, ethnic cleansing, systemic poverty, political corruption.  I’m trapped by my uselessness to truly do anything about it.  And those are things on a worldly scale—what about the things that affect my life here and now?  In comparison my situation feels insignificant, and yet it is holding me ever so strongly in its grasp.  It doesn’t feel small to me.  How can I reconcile that when the world is literally crumbling around me?

More importantly, as a Christ-follower and imitator, what am I supposed to do?  WWJD?  How would Jesus calm the storm in me?

I’ll tell you what Jesus would do, because he’s already done it for us.  He would walk up to my storm, speak his Truth to the wind and chaos and command it to be still.  He would turn to me, kiss my forehead, and take my worries, my doubts, my sins from me.  He would remind me that my burden is not my own, that I alone cannot save this world.  In fact, I cannot save anything.  Only God can.  With his soft voice he would remind me that He is the Eye in the storm, the Peace that transcends all understanding, the Light to this dark world.  He would take my hand and say, “My child, come follow me.”

Truly, “[h]umankind cannot bear very much reality.”[1]  Even with what little we do carry we are weighed down like Atlas, knees bent and trying to carry the world on our backs.  On our own, that burden is too much.  But with God, our burden is light and our joy is great.  We need but follow in Jesus’ holy footsteps, no matter how clumsy or slow we may be.  With our eyes on Him, our feet shall not waver from His path.

Let go and let God.

Stay tuned!

---

[1] T.S. Eliot, “Dry Salvages” in Four Quartets (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1943. Reprint, 1971), 44.

Noise

Just imagine chickens clucking, diesel engines roaring, motorcycles revving, babies crying, horses clomping, dogs barking, parrots squawking, fans droning, people calling, doors squeaking, kids laughing, buses honking, and music playing.

All at the same time.

When you move to a new place, the first things that strike you as different are generally the food and the way people look.  Ask anyone, “So what was such-and-such a place like?” and they’ll say something like “Well, it was crazy, people walking everywhere, wearing these colorful dresses—even the guys—but the food was amazing!  Ok, a little spicy, but so good!”  These things seem to be easy to get used to—you find a food you like, you copy the actions of other people to fit in, you buy a new “indigenous” outfit or accessories.  To put it simply, you adjust.  

But noise, now that’s hard to get used to.  Noise is something that is constantly barraging us, whether we are aware of it or not.  Smells come and go.  Taste only happens at meal time.  And sight, well, sight can be shut out if we but close our eyes.

And I know what you’re thinking—you can tune out the world too.  You can use headphones, earplugs, or lock yourself in a soundproof room.  But those are just replacing one form of sound for another: music, muted sounds, the sound of your own breathing echoing off of the soundproof walls.

Noise never leaves us.

I don’t know about you, but I like to sleep in relative quiet.  The rhythmic whirr of a fan or the light notes of soothing music is about all I can tolerate.  Or could tolerate I should say.  I also like to work in relative quiet, focusing on the task at hand.  Tranquility, not silence, is the level of noise I love.  But living here in León, tranquility is hard to find and even harder to preserve.  Fleeting moments it’ll be here, like a breath of fresh air, and then suddenly a motorcycle will go past or a woman trying to sell tortillas or a car announcing the circus is in town. 

And for a while there, these interruptions irritated me.  I felt constantly attacked by sounds, the noise traveling up my spine like nails on a chalkboard.  I found myself exhausted, listening and mentally complaining about every little noise I heard and didn’t approve of.  Why couldn’t people just shut up for one second so I could sleep?! 

But the problem wasn’t with the people and the world living their normal lives around me.  The problem was definitely with me.  I realized that I just cared too much about everything I heard, as if it were a clue that I had to uncover and understand.  And because of this I became so overwhelmed to the point of irritated exhaustion.  Things needed to change.  I needed to change.  And so, slowly but surely, I began to ignore things.  Honestly, I don’t know how I did it, but somehow I grew used to the multitude of noises around me.  Now, when things are too quiet I get on edge.  Like, did everyone move away or die or something?  Is there something going on that I don’t know about?  Why is it so quiet?!

Do I still like to sleep in relative peace?  Yes.  Can I sleep when there’s lots of noise?  Thankfully, yes.  Even better, I have grown used to the noise around me and have begun to appreciate it.

So, when you sleep over at a friend’s house and hear strange noises coming from the walls, just remember that your friend has lived there all along and has slept soundly without any problems.  When you travel to a new place, sit for a bit and enjoy the new sounds around you and appreciate them for their uniqueness. And when you move to a new home, a new neighborhood, a new country, take comfort in the knowledge that someday, somehow, you will get used to it.

Stay tuned!