BONUS: Baseball

Ok, baseball fans, I just witnessed my first baseball game in another country.  If you’ve never had the pleasure, add it to your bucket list.

Let me set the scene:

Photo Credit: Kelsey Davies

The sun is setting, temperatures are dropping, and everyone is heading to the local stadium for a good game of baseball.  No official parking lot is dedicated to this stadium (except for a small dusty field that is also used as a short-cut road during the day) and so the surrounding streets and parks are brimming with cars, motorcycles, bikes, tricículos, and horse-drawn carts.  Vendors fill the area, loudly selling classic Nicaraguan treats like fried plantains, grilled meats, quesillos, fruits, and other concession foods. People are everywhere.

I am accompanied by a Nicaraguan family (father, teenage son, 10-year old daughter) and three North American friends.  Our guide (the father) takes us up to the nicer, more expensive seats (worth <$2) only to find the area jammed.  All the seats are gone and behind them is a crowd of fans 4 people thick.  As if to prove to me the place is indeed full, the father shoves me forward into the crowd and says, “See? It’s full!  We should have come earlier.”  My face in someone’s shoulder, I can’t help but agree. 

Photo Credit: Kelly Chang

We admitted defeat and wander over to the less desired seats that happen to be free (which should make them more appealing in my humble opinion).  These free seats were actually a series of cement bleachers lining the two outfield sections.  So, yes, we were a bit far from the action.  But we had a great view and could see everything, so we weren’t complaining. With the sun setting, the approaching night brought some relief from the heat of the day.  Unfortunately, our cements seats had absorbed all of that heat and were now nicely roasting our butt cheeks.  Which was not necessarily wanted, but unavoidable. 

The section we found ourselves in was filled with the people who were either 1) too cheap to pay for a seat, 2) too poor to pay for a seat or 3) late.  We fell into the last category.  Thankfully, we weren’t as late as some others—by the second half of the first inning, there was standing room only.  By the second inning, there wasn’t even room for that.  No walkways or pass-throughs were left vacant (imagine a butt to boob kind of crowd).  But we had spots to sit, so we were fine.  We also happened to be next to a boisterous group of half-drunk men who were harmless but loud.  They also had the connections should you wish to enjoy a cold adult beverage (not officially allowed in the stadium).  Now, these men were a bit foul-mouthed but otherwise good fun.  Case in point: at one point, one of the guys (let’s call him Baldy for obvious reasons) decided to balance an almost full bottle of cheap booze on his head and proceed to dance a version of the salsa.  Impressively, the bottle never fell.  I still don’t know how he managed it. 

If the cement seat was getting to you (a.k.a. unappreciatively turning your buns numb), you could always stand up and cheer your team on.  This had the added bonus of airing out your bum from the excess heat.  If standing’s not your style, there’s a solution for that too: just bring a couple pieces of cardboard or an empty 2-liter pop bottle to perch yourself on.  Works like a charm.

Photo Credit: Kelly Chang

Throughout the game, vendors would walk the crowds selling all sorts of goodies.  Women selling freshly sliced watermelon, mango, oranges and all other varieties of fruits.  Men selling cigarettes one by one (because who can afford a pack these days?).  And if you couldn’t afford to buy one for yourself, your buddy might be nice enough to let you share his.  Or the very least, take a nap on your shoulder. 

Photo Credit: Kelly Chang

Literally every guy around me was smoking at one point in time or other, so you need to imagine a haze hovering above everyone.   Still other vendors were selling loaded hotdogs and hamburgers and slices of pizza (how convenient!  I had forgotten to eat dinner!).  And let’s not forget the guy selling noisemakers.  These noisemakers (also worth <$2) were shaped like plastics horns and conveniently came in a variety of colors.  They also miraculously emitted a sound akin to that of an angry bus driver (the horn from the bus, not the man).  At every appropriate moment, one was encouraged to blast your noisemaker as loud as conceivably possible.  If you were good, you could also toot it in such a way as to create a sort of rhythm.  It was exciting.  And deafening.  You were to blow this horn for: every good pitch, every ball we got, every base earned, every good catch, every good hit, and for intimidation.  Mind you this list is neither exclusive nor exhaustive.  I also blew it when I was bored. 

Photo Credit: Kelly Chang

Now, as for the game, this one was a biggie.  We are in the semi-finals now, so it’s all flames and glory from here on out.  Leon (my home team) was up against some team from Managua (the baddies).  Though there were a few busloads of Managua-nites shipped in to root their team on, there was no way they could drown out the deafening din coming from the Leon fans.  Cheers and songs and chants (complete with hand gestures) never ended, making this game seem like a really intense musical of a sports movie.  Unfortunately, there was no announcer on a loud speaker to announce the plays of the game.  In fact, I’m not even sure if they had loud speakers (they did have REALLY bright lights though to shine on the field #goodlifechoice).  And the scoreboard was conveniently blocked from our line of vision by a band of trees.  So, we were often left out of the loop as to what the heck was going on.  But have no fear!  There were plenty of fans around that were actually paying attention and were more than willing to share what was going on.  If you didn’t believe in their quasi-professional opinions, scattered about were guys with headphones on listening to the game through the radio on their phones.  They were probably a more reliable source of information… and they were always happy to help. 

At one point, an unfortunate victim of “wrong place-wrong time” found itself on the greens of the outfield: a small black cat.  Confused by the din and the laughter, the cat scurried about searching for an escape.  Finally it made its way to the back chain-link fence and, smelling freedom, ran right into the fence thinking it to be a hole.  Oops.  Dazed for a moment, it realized it was blessed with the gift of claws and balance and proceed to scale the fence, jumping down to the other side a free cat.

Photo Credit: Kelly Chang

It was quite the night.  Needless to say, we whooped their butts.  Like a million to 4.  Take that, Managua.

Stay tuned!

Me Too

Have you ever felt the immense power of the two-word phrase “me too”? 

Say it with me.  Me.  Too.

This past week has been particularly filled with me-too moments.  It came in those moments of expressing my deeply felt loneliness or doubt, the moments when I felt adrift at sea or trapped in a dark cave or stranded in the middle of nowhere.  Emphasis here on alone and suffering.  Now, to alleviate some of your concerns—no I was not in any physical danger, no I was not suffering from a mental breakdown, and no I was not being persecuted or hurt in any way.  I was just being caught up in the natural throes of life and, after enduring the battle for so long, it was starting to get to me. 

A few comments here and there and, much to my genuine surprise, the response I got was the simple two-word power-couple phrase: “me too”.  Not, “knock it off, Kelsey” or “chin up” or even “I’ll pray for you”.  No, it was something much better.  It was better than a hug or chocolate or getting an A.  Why? Because it was saying, “Hey, I understand.  And I don’t have any answers.  But I’m here too, in the same boat, in the same dark cave, in the same field in the middle of nowhere.”  Read: YOU’RE NOT ALONE.

God spoke to me through those words this week.  Yes, it was my friends and family speaking those words to me, stepping out there and being vulnerable enough to admit they struggle too.  But beneath those words was the voice of God.  I AM WITH YOU he said.  I WILL ALWAYS BE WITH YOU.  YOU ARE NEVER ALONE.

How great is it to know that no matter where I go—physically, emotionally, spiritually—God is there before me, behind me, and with me!  He is my guide, my protector, and my companion.  He will never forsake me, even when I feel like I’ve been forsaken.  He will never abandon me, even during those moments when I feel nothing but abandonment.  He will never let me go, for I am his. 

So, to those of you who are struggling right now, know that you are not alone.  I’ve been there.  I get it.  But more than that, know that God gets it.  He is there, right beside you, every step and trip and fall along the way. 

And when you’re sick of trying to stumble along surviving solely by your wits and strength, lean on him and say, “Me too, God.  Save me too.”

Stay tuned!

Be Still, My Soul

Photo Credit: Ethan Hunter

Be still, my soul.

Be still, my soul.

Oh be still, my soul.

I sit here, surrounded by a tropical paradise of palm trees, beaches and volcanoes--I shouldn't have a care in the world. Not in this very moment at least. My mind, seemingly blank, tries to convince me that I truly am at peace. But my body betrays me. My feet fidget, my heart quickens, my breathing shallows, my fingers twitch, my stomach twists, my teeth clench. I feel energetic, but in a sick sort of way. I want to go and to do, but I also want to stay and to be still.

Why can't I be still?

The simple truth of the matter is: I'm scared. I'm scared of both the uncertainty and the certainty of the future. I'm scared of not knowing, of not being ready, of not being good enough. My fear is eating away at my faith and tearing great gaping holes in my peace. I feel like I'm living on shaky ground, forever stuck in the middle of a gentle earthquake.  I'm never quite at ease for the simple fact that I don't trust the ground beneath my feet.

Truth be told, I know I'm being ridiculous. I know I have no reason to be feeling this way, not when I know with all my heart the faithfulness and love of God. In Him I should have no fear. His strength will be my strength.  I will find rest in his embrace and refuge under the wings of the Almighty.

So why do I still doubt? Better still, why do I cling to this doubt? How can I break these chains that are binding me to a life filled with hopelessness, dread and anxiety? 

My only plan of attack right now is to fully immerse myself in the moment, to be fully here and now. Feel the warmth of the sun as it wakes up from its nightly slumber. Notice the gentle breeze on my face and the rustle of it in the leaves of the trees.  Listen to the many calls of the birds chatting to one another around me.  Smell the smoke of a fire, the exhaust of a bus, the aroma of cooking food, the pungent odor of sun-rotting garbage. Hear the sounds of the hustle and bustle of city life, street calls and honking horns and barking dogs and pop music.

As I let myself go and just be present in my senses, I am once again reminded that I am not alone. This world isn't just about me and my place in it. It's much bigger than that. I am but one piece of a much larger and more beautiful mosaic of life.  For whatever reason, this calms me somewhat. I may not be still, but I am calmer than I was.

But I want to feel the depths of God's peace in me, the peace that transcends understanding. I pray that this incomprehensible peace like a river finds my soul so that I may be caught up in its flow and lost in its movement.  Jesus, please be the river in me. Come and still my disquieted soul. Lead me to green pastures and still waters. Guide me and keep me, Father. I am yours.

Stay tuned!

Through New Eyes

Of all the elements that make up our world, time has got to be the funniest.  Funny, I suppose, in a ha-ha way but also funny in a “I don’t get it” way or in a “How did that happen?” way.  Time flies.  Time crawls.  Time warps.  Time jumps.  Time speeds.  Time slows.  It appears that time is magical and can do quite the assortment of things.  Recently, I’ve noticed another trick up time’s sleeve: the ability to cause forgetfulness.  We’ve all been affected by it at one point or another.  Time goes by and our minds are not strong enough to hold up against this corrosive attack of time.  We forget details, then moments, and then before you know it we forget people and places and things!  Time is a very powerful enemy to our memories.

Which is why God tells us to write his Words and Promises on our heads, hearts, and minds.  He tells us to graffiti our walls with his Words in big bold letters.  He tells us to tattoo them on our bodies, wear them on our clothing, and post them in our homes.  Every time we see these written reminders we will remember what God has done for us and what he is doing for us and what he promises to do.  He knows that we are forgetful creatures, ever the victims of time, so he gave us careful instructions to guard our way and to make our paths straight. 

It seems that I haven’t been very diligent in writing down God’s promises and actions.  The walls in my room are quite bare.  My forehead, blank.  My heart and mind, consumed by work and worry.  Slowly, time has creeped its way into my life and has made me quite the forgetful little Christ-follower.  But God has heard my forgetfulness like a silent cry for help.  He has come to my rescue once again.

You see, I’ve forgotten my passion for being here.  After the various battles I’ve struggled my way through these past months I’ve lost sight of the vision that brought me here.  Instead, my sight is solely focused on my feet trudging along on the ground.  In my mission to not trip over my feet, I’ve failed to look ahead down the road and focus on why I’m even marching along!  I was moving more out of habit than out of passion.  I’ve become quite accustomed to Nicaragua and I’ve forgotten what a strange and fascinating place it is.  I’ve forgotten how scared I was to wander around, how excited I was to see and experience new things, how curious I was to be a part of the culture here.  Time has made me numb. 

But these past two weeks, God gave me the chance to see Nicaragua through new eyes.  Eyes that had never before seen the quirkiness, complexity, beauty and struggles of life here.  Eyes that were surprised by new sights, ears that were alert to new sounds, taste buds that came alive to new tastes.  I feel very much like the blind man from the Gospels—I heard Jesus spit and then felt him place mud on my eyes and he whispered in my ear: “Go, wash and be free.  See once again the joys and wonders I have placed before you!  Remember, my child, and believe.”  The mud fell from my eyes and a miracle has given me clear sight.  I once was blind, but now I see.

I pray that I will remember the many works God has done in my life, the many miracles he has surprised me with.  I pray that I will cling to the promises he has whispered into my ear and spoken into my heart.  I pray that I will be diligent and write down all that he has done for me, is doing for me, and will do for me.  I pray that God will guard my heart and mind against the attacks of time so that never again shall I forget.

Stay tuned!