Dusty Dust

Welcome to the last day in June.  Smack dab in the middle of the year.  Hump day as it were.  Well, July 2 actually is the half-way point of the year but semantics!  June 30 is close enough in my book :)

Today, I have to say, was quite the day in Leon.  Determined to do some last minute errands, my friend HaEun and I ventured out into the semi-urban wilderness known as Leon… only to stop in our tracks at the sight before us: a cloud rose on the horizon, hovering far above the rooftops and streets of the city.  Only instead of the beautiful gray rain-carriers or the benign white fluffies, this cloud had an ominous brown tinge to it.  Yes, Leon was being hit by yet another dust storm.  (Which was really weird for me to grasp for the reason that the very day before I was hiding from torrential downpour and dodging small rivers in the streets of Managua.)  Why does Leon have to be so dry?!  Wishing very much that I had a bandana to cover my face, I did my best impersonation of a heroine weathering the oncoming sandstorm with my arm shielding my eyes and my teeth gritting on unwanted dirt in my mouth.  Thankfully, everyone else was wiser than us and stayed inside, making the lines shorter and our errand running less patience-consuming.  Now, finally back at home, I have all the windows closed up tight and a fan by my face so I don’t suffocate.  So I’m mostly safe from the dust storm outside but instead have to suffer from the heat inside… Oh Leon, you fickle beast.

Tomorrow I am off on another adventure, this time accompanied by three good friends (HaEun, Maybeling and Nazareth) to the northern land of Honduras.  There we will meet up with the other members of the Cohort and spend a week living, learning and serving in the countryside.  I don’t know yet what to expect as this is the last place in the Cohort that I have yet to travel to, which is exciting!  My only wish at this moment is that in Mangulile we will be welcomed not only by friendly faces but by nicer weather :)

Pray for those of us in the Cohort as we travel to and from Honduras in the next week.  Also pray that our time together may be not only a blessing to each of us but also to God and his work in Mangulile.  See you on the other side!

Stay tuned.

Dad

This week we celebrated Dad’s everywhere. 

Miles and miles of lands and sea separated me from my Dad, so I wasn’t able to hug him or say any of this to him in person.  So, to do something special, I’d like to dedicate this post to sharing what my Dad means to me:

Dad, first I need to thank you for several physical characteristics… I have the Davies hair, eyes, poor eyesight, jaw, bow leggedness, upper body strength, pidgin toe-ness, gait, feet, speed, and canker sores. 

But more than that, Dad, I’ve inherited a few other characteristics that could have come from none other than you.  Your use of made-up vocabulary, for example, with words like vamoosicate and adding o’s to the end of words thinking that was Spanish.  I’ve also adopted a few of your favorite phrases too, including “Inch by inch, it’s a cinch; yard by yard, it’s really hard” and “Let’s make like Pablo and Cruise”.  I also now find myself more knowledgeable in areas that I certainly do not find interesting, like plumbing, Nascar, politics, car specs, and red-neck solutions to common problems.  I’ve also inherited our family name, Davies, and along with the Davies name comes the Dutch and Welsh heritage that I’ve become so proud of.

But, really, Dad I want to thank you for these unforgettable memories: teaching me to drive like I “was always on ice” or that “there was an egg on my dashboard”, chilling in Japan with me in Epcot because we both hate shopping, loving fireworks and rollercoasters and asparagus and Avatar just as much as I do, singing us a prayer before bed at night, enjoying the same favorite drink at Starbucks (caramel macchiato), buying my first car which turned out to be a manual, being sat on by a horse in Costa Rica and the whole hospital experience afterwards, always having a toothpick in your mouth, talking with me for hours on random topics and pretending that we know what we’re talking about, keeping me informed with who’s who when we eat lunch at the Manure Pit (I mean, Auction House) in Wayland, cleverly naming my pet rat Mr. Ratola (who you gifted to me if I remember correctly), always sniffing and guessing what your gift was before you opened it, taking me to Iowa in celebration of my 10^th birthday (and playing hangman the whole way), always pronouncing names wrong like Dzia Dzia and Busia and Josiah and Felipe, teaching us how to (not) catch fish using hotdogs as bait, taking us deep-sea fishing and baiting our hooks because we were too chicken and then accidently shoving squid up your nose and puking (sorry, but that was funny), driving me to all my doctor’s appointments after my surgery and not making fun of me for how dorky I looked, coming to Father/Daughter night at GEMS and teaching me how to build a birdhouse, making me eat that olive that one time (I still regret that, you know), teaching me how to play Euchre and Knock Out Whist, trick-or-treating with Rhys and I that one time because no one else could go (and dressing up like a gravestone with me), filling up my gas tank when I asked nicely, always going to the vet with me with whatever sick animal we had, being fierce competition in every go-kart race and putt-putt golf game at Craig’s Cruisers, teaching me the importance of harmony and singing with us in the Church choir, being so proud of your mad cooking and grilling skills (except for your peanut butter gravy… that was gross), being afraid to watch scary movies, doing your ridiculous happy dance whenever you felt like it, driving all those hours on all those family vacation and not once killing us, being proud (and surprised) of us when Sarah and I set a urinal that you couldn’t, for praying long prayers after Sunday’s lunch (though thankfully not as long as Grandpa’s), going with me to rescue my cat when she got caught in Sarah’s car, loving gnomes and hiding little ones in the garden, buying me a gun for my birthday because I complained about being treated differently than Evan, purposely pronouncing Spanish as poorly as possible just to get a laugh out of everyone, supporting me in whatever dream I suddenly came up with, and so so much more.

Most of all, thank you for letting me wrap you around my little pinky finger.

Love always,

Your little girl

Stay tuned! 

One Year and Counting!

One year ago yesterday, a young and wide-eyed Kelsey first stepped foot on Nicaraguan soil to embark on a grand adventure.  One year.  One year! 

I honestly cannot believe so much time has passed.  And yet, I feel as if I’ve lived a lifetime in this one year.  To help me regain my sanity and grasp on time, I’ve begun to make a list of the things I’ve seen and done during this past year.  In a way, this list celebrates the big and the small, the exciting and the struggles, the expected and the surprises.  So celebrate with me!

The top 20 things I’ve done this year are:

1.       Learned how to excel at a new job as Student Life Coordinator

2.       Lived with a host family for a month

3.       Learned some Nicaraguan slang and managed to use it well (sometimes)

4.       Adopted a kitten who thinks she owns the world

5.       Learned how to make homemade tortillas and drink beverages out of a bag

6.       Mastered the public transit system of cramming oneself into an overstuffed vehicle of various sizes

7.       Flew and boated to a blip of an island in the Caribbean, visited my old home in Costa Rica twice, visited my friend Guissel’s old home in the pueblo of Cuapa, spent a few days living with campesinos in the countryside, and visited my Michigan home twice

8.       Watched my little sister get married!

9.       Learn again how to excel at a new job as Director of SPIN

10.   Completed three Masters courses in Social Justice at the Institute for Christian Studies

11.   Was asked to be a regular blogger for One Faith, Many Voices

12.   Went to (and enjoyed) a church that is extremely charismatic and worshipped God with fellow Nicaraguan believers

13.   Did some touristy things (volcano boarded down an active volcano, hiked and tented in a canyon, night hiked an active volcano, gone bird watching various times, snorkeled, zip-lined, hiked in a cloud forest, went to a baseball game, climbed the cathedral)

14.   Was set up with an amazing man who graciously agreed to date this far-flung adventurer

15.   Discovered my favorite Nicaraguan food (stuffed plantains), drink (maracuyá fruit juice), ice cream (pitahaya), fruit (banana), vegetable (cucumber), adult beverage (tie between Flor de Caña and Victoria) and hot beverage (coffee).

16.   Learned how to combat extreme heat and sweated more than I want to think about

17.   Went to several free arts & culture festivals that celebrate Nicaraguan history and society

18.   Successfully avoided getting severely sick with any of the major afflictions such as (but not limited to) dengue, chikungunya, parasites, amoebas, malaria and depression.

19.   Have more gained more incredible friendships with people all over Nicaragua and Central America

And finally…

20.   Lived in another country for an entire year!

This is only a short list of all of the blessings that have filled this past year of my life.  And for all of this, I thank God as my Provider, Caretaker, Father and Guide.  He has been with me every step of the way, teaching me, using me, and loving me.  Without him, I’d be lost.

Thank you God for a wonderful year!

Stay tuned!

Truth as a Mosaic

Psst, come with me!   Here, stand here with the tips of your toes touching this wall and your nose centimeters from it in front of you.  Ignore how weird you feel.  Ok, tell me, what do you see?  Thousands of shards of glass, brightly colored, spiraling out it all directions.  Uneven edges, sharp and dull, vibrant and alive.  No two are alike.  Side by side they rest, embracing their variety and uniqueness.  Now take a few steps back.  Your breath is taken away.  What lies before you is not a random sea of mismatched color-tiles, but instead a mosaic masterpiece.  A picture emerges: a landscape, a building, a face.  The truth that was once hidden in the individuality now shines out in the community.

Could life be that way?  Like pixels to a TV, atoms to an object, or particles to light—a bunch of little bits put together to become one whole.  The Truth of life is all of us put together.  Looking at one person, you can see Truth but not the whole Truth, just a part of it.  Their place is next to another shard of glass, the Truth stronger between the two than with just one.

We often think of Truth as linear, static, solid.  A + B always equals C.  My religion says this, which is the Truth.  Anyone who does not believe what I believe is a liar.  My government says that democracy is the best form of government.  Anyone who does not believe what I believe is wrong.  My taste buds say that Superman is the best flavor of ice cream.  Anyone who does not believe what I believe is dumb.   

But what if the Truth is instead fluid, organic, communal?  What if A + B sometimes equals C but sometimes it also equals D or E or none of these or all of these?  What if the Truth emerges in the growth of life, in the change, in the movement?  What if my truth is just as beautiful as your truth (this is assuming of course that I recognize that my own truth is fallible and incomplete)? 

This would mean that together we are better, together we are truer, together we are beautiful.

It also would mean that we believe in a God that lives and breathes in every tile of the mosaic, a God who is not confined and restricted to a few tiles, a God who is not divided and exclusionary.  Our God is mighty, our God is great, our God is everywhere. 

If, then, I truly believe this (that Truth is a mosaic), how would this influence my life?  In a myriad of ways!  My life would ever be curious and exploratory, seeking to taste and feel and see all the different facets of God’s creation.  My mind would open up to learning of beliefs and ideas, lifestyles and thoughts different from my own.  My heart would open up to loving those who are different than me.  Most importantly: my soul would open up to believing in a God that is MUCH bigger than I could ever imagine.  A God who can speak things into being.  A God who paints the sunsets and gives light to the stars.  A God who was, is, and forever shall be.  A God who knows all, sees all, and loves all. 

I have a little of the Truth in me, and I see you do too.  Want to share?

Stay tuned!

The Ache of Rain

This is very serious, everyone...  It has become very clear to me that I have a condition.  I’m itchy, achy, restless.  I don’t want to go to a doctor—sterilized rooms terrify me.  I don’t want to take some medication—I’m sort of extremely averse to pills.  I don’t need to go to a psychologist—one, I’m poor and two, I know what’s wrong with me: I want it to rain.

The clouds taunt me

Have you ever wanted something so bad it hurt?  Craved it so much that your every waking moment itched with this desire?  My very cells are abuzz with the energy of longing.  When I think of rain, which has been noticeably absent in Nicaragua these past 5 months, my eyes water and my heart races.  I’m expectant, waiting, yearning.  And it hurts.

I bet this is what it felt like to be the Israelites wandering that dusty, dry, joy-sucking desert for 40 years.  I bet this is what it felt like for Abraham and Sarah as they waited into their old age for their promised baby.  I bet this is what it felt like for the Jews living in exile in Babylon, longing for their beloved Jerusalem.  I bet this is what it felt like for families separated by the Berlin Wall before 1989.  I bet this is what it feels like for displaced migrants who can’t return to their home due to the overwhelming presence of violence.  I bet this is what it feels like for Christians who are waiting for Jesus’ Second Coming.

Waiting is itchy, achy, and extremely restless.

Waiting ever so (not)patiently can also make a person go crazy.  As I sit here writing this, I feel like I’m having an anxiety attack or something.  My heart is racing too fast like I just finished a coffee drinking marathon.  Even worse, waiting can start to make you imagine things are happening.  Take for example my rather unstable reaction yesterday: I was sitting on my way-too-comfortable couch, answering some emails, surfing the interwebs when all of the sudden I stopped typing mid-word.  Like a tidal wave hitting shore, the smell of “wet” hit my senses: somewhere nearby there was a wet piece of earth calling out to me.  I got up from the couch (probably with a crazed look in my eye) and ran to my front porch.  No sign of raindrops outside.  No sign of a neighbor watering his garden in a nasty attempt at teasing me.  No puddles, no wet spots, no water main break, nothing.  I ran to the garden in the middle of our house.  No sign of rain there either.  And no sign that my roommates had watered the plants. I ran to our back patio.  The same lack of wetness greeted me.  Confused, I paused.  No, I wasn’t imagining things—I still smelled wet earth.  I looked up into the sky and darkened gray clouds taunted my gaze.  I glared back at them accusingly.  I went back into the house and, due to the presence of confused and concerned looks from my roommates, I explained my strange behavior.  Admitting defeat, I fell into a heap on the couch and tried not to think about what didn’t happen.

Waiting is the worst punishment.  Ever.

So why did God make his people wait so much in the Bible?  Why does he make us wait so much today?  What is he trying to teach us?

I’m no magic-8 ball, but I have a sneaky suspicion that God’s many lessons in patience-training teach us a myriad of things.  Waiting teaches me to place my trust in something other than myself since the current situation is way beyond my control to change anything.  It teaches me to have faith that the present reality is not static and will change.  It teaches me to have hope in the future, that the coming changes will bring with it relief and restoration.  It teaches me to find contentment in the now, to find joy in the present situation no matter how bleak.  It teaches me to be prepared for whatever is coming, to expect surprises, to anticipate the unknown. 

But these lessons will pass me on by if my focus is narrowly honed in on complaining about how hard waiting is.  If I want to not be miserable in this wait and learn what God is teaching me, then I need to look at my situation, throw my hands in the air, yell “plot twist!”, and dive back into living life to the fullest.

So today, I am going to try and embrace this wait I find myself in.  I am going to move forward in the knowledge that I have found my wilderness, my 40 years in the desert.  And I’m going to live it out in the faith and hope and belief that change is indeed coming.  Someday.  

Stay tuned!