What If?

Relaxing in the hammock

While I was working this week, Wilma had the TV on to some evangelical program.  A minister was preaching, a guest from the US, and his sermon was translated to his Nicaraguan audience.  I wasn't paying enough attention to know exactly what he was preaching on but one of his questions has stuck with me: "What would my life look like had I not met Christ and been a Christian?" 

In some ways this question is ridiculous: I've been a Christian my whole life and so how would I know? I can't tell the future (or alternate future I suppose), I can't travel to parallel universes and I certainly can't just email God and see what he thinks.

Nevertheless, I'm curious.  What would my life look like?  Who would I be?

So let's just play a bit of a guessing game, shall we? :)

I suppose that, based on my personality and family history, I'd be one of two extremes: a depressed atheist or a wandering pantheist.  

Let me flesh those two out a bit.  A depressed atheist... Well, this Kelsey happens to be quite the fine player at the doubter's game.  For those of you who don't know what this is: it's where you doubt everyone and their stories from the beginning and then can only be converted to believing them.  (Those who play the believer's game are the exact opposite.)  I judge at first sight, I'm quick to make an assessment, and I don't forgive easily.  You are a book and I will read you first by your cover and I dare you to surprise me with your pages beneath.  Because more often than not, I judge right.  This superpower makes my life lonely as I find it hard to trust anyone, let alone a deity I cannot see nor touch.  Atheism would be my only friend, and science would be my religion of choice.  If science can't prove it, it doesn't exist.  Life would be based on chance rather than design and so I would forever feel that I had no control over my own fate.  But I feel that such a critical look at the world around me would leave little room for joy and wonder and I would be bogged down by the ugliness that I see: war, sickness, poverty, abuse, lies.  A depressed atheist I would be.

On the other hand, I could potentially be the exact opposite: a wandering pantheist.  This Kelsey is a very spiritual woman, open to mysticism and wonder.  This Kelsey is moved by beauty, impressed by charisma, guided by energy, and swept up in the New Age movements around her.  I would be the pilgrim ever searching for direction, for fulfillment, for happiness.  And I would find it for a time in many things, in many religions, in many people.  I would be the person to believe that aliens have come,that horoscopes tell the truth, that all governments are covering up conspiracies and reading all my emails, that Big Foot exists, that ghosts haunt homes, that aura readings are genuine, and that Karma is just and will always find you.  I would believe it all until proven otherwise--best believe in everything than in nothing. I might settle with being a Buddhist, confident that my inner peace will guide me to enlightenment, or I might join a cult that promises me wonders if I fully commit.  And when something or someone has failed me, I'd move on and choose something else to follow.  A wandering pantheist I would be.

Thank the Lord that I have been saved and that these stories are not my stories!  My faith has softened by harsh and doubting mind and has given guidance to my spiritually curious mind.  I love who I am, a daughter of God, a follower of Jesus Christ, and a vessel for the Holy Spirit.    

What about you?  Who do you think you would be if you were not a Christian?

On a side note, this week I had the opportunity to meet one of the Dordt study abroad students here in Nicaragua.  Catherine actually studies at another university in the States but will be joining the Dordt students here this fall.  For the past few months she has been living in Nicaragua and has been working on her own service project: a library for an impoverished community.  Below you can see us standing in front of the nearly completed building.  During the semester, her service project will be to get the library up and running and have it start to host its first activities for the community.  I look forward to seeing what Catherine and her community can accomplish! 

Catherine and I in front of her library

This week has also been, to sum it up in one word, dirty.  Nicaragua is experiencing a drought right now due to the substantial lack of rain during this rainy season.  As a result, the earth is very dry.  This week we've been experiencing these dust storms (think the Dust Bowl) that have swept through town and covered everything in a layer of yuck.  The dirty dust gets into everything and is making many people sick, myself included (my throat is sick of breathing in this stuff).  To top it off, because of the drought, this entire week my house hasn't been receiving water.  At first they told us some water main was broken but we don't believe that since at random times during the night the water will come back for a little while.  Those fortunate enough to be awake take advantage of the moment and quick fill up as many buckets of water as they can, to take showers, etc.  Some people even do all of their cleaning and mopping when the water comes, sometimes at 2 or 3 in the morning!  Last night, I had a bucket shower and never have I been so thankful to feel clean again.  Oh the day when the water comes back, that will be a day for celebration :)

So, please please pray for rain for Nicaragua so that this drought will end!  While you're at it, pray for California too as they're experiencing a drought as well.  Well, you might as well pray for the entire world and that everyone who needs water will receive it and those that have too much will share with the rest of us :)

Stay tuned!

Filling Holes

I find myself dragging my feet to write this post, something that hardly ever happens with me.  Usually, writing comes as naturally to me as breathing.  And it's not just that writing comes quote-on-quote easy for me, the truth is I love writing.  

But today I don't.

I think that it's probably because my head is swimming in thoughts and feelings and ideas and emotions, so much so that I'm having a hard time finding the right words to say or write.  I've seen and done a lot this week and, though outwardly I appear calm, on the inside I'm a bundle of chaos.  I go to bed late, my mind racing, and I wake up early, my heart pounding.  I feel tired all the time.  And hot.  The best way to describe my zombie-like like presence during the day is that I'm sluggish, maybe, or mopey.  I'm not sure.

And I know it has to do with me moving here, with all the change and whatnot that finds me every day. I know it's the side effects of culture shock, but even if my mind knows it my body doesn't.  I can't just say "be calm" or "knock it off" to my body and have it obey.  It's much too rebellious for that.  Stubborn even.

Joking aside, I really am frustrated at myself for this.  You'd think that after having done this all before, I'd get used it and be over it by now.  And honestly, the thing that frustrates me most is that I am having fun! Seriously! And yet I'm anxious all the time.  I'm going nuts.

But, having admitted all this here, I already feel better.  Sometimes you just have to complain a bit I guess.  Get it all out, off your chest.  Kind of like the book of Lamentations--now there's a good read if you like melancholy and sadness. Healing begins with pain, with admitting that a problem does exist, with confessing that things aren't perfect.  Only when you see a hole can you fill it.

So, I suppose this is me asking for prayers this coming week as I attempt to pull myself together, as I search for those holes and begin to fill them.  Pray that I'll leave all my anxiety at the feet of God and go out each day discovering Him in the world around me.

On a side note, I just got a message from my mother saying that she had a visit to the emergency room this weekend.  Extreme and sudden pain in her neck and head chased quite a bit of worry.  The doctor says she has occipital neuralgia, but with medication it should go away.  I know she will have a hard time admitting it out loud but I will for her: please pray for healing for her and for the pain to go away.  

Stay tuned! 

Ama de Casa

It’s evening, the night sky dark above us, stars shining brightly though we can’t see them.  The street before us is ever busy with traffic: buses, cars, trucks, motorcycles, horses, bikes, people.  Beside me sits my host family: Wilma my host mom, Anderson my host dad, Sadie my host sister and Javier my host brother.  We are all sitting on the sidewalk just in front of the house, sipping fruit smoothies and sharing stories with one another.  Occasionally a friend will pass by and they’ll shout out a greeting in our direction.  In this moment, we are truly surrounded by community.  And here I sit, nothing more than a visitor and yet a welcome part of it all.  I’m starting to love it here :)

Sadie, Wilma, Anderson, Javier

This week I have been doing profiles of all of the families that will be hosting students this coming fall.  These profiles will be translated by yours truly and then sent to the students so they can know a bit about their family before they arrive.  The host families will also receive a profile of the student.  During my visits, I ask for the families to give a basic description of themselves and sometimes I get some pretty funny responses.  Sometimes they sound way better in Spanish but when translated into English they sound very strange.  For example one of our moms said this about herself: “She treats each student as if they were her own children, as if they had spent nine months in her womb.”  It’s meant to be an honor, to describe how much she loves hosting students, as if they were her own kids.  But to our ears, it kind of sounds creepy :)

Another common description I’ve heard from our host mothers is ama de casa.  Ama de casa translates best to “housewife” or “housekeeper”.  This is literally the job title for many women who stay at home and take care of the house, raise the children, and keep everything going.  Described this way, being called an ama de casa is a little bit demeaning, unless of course you had always as a little girl dreamed of being a housewife when you grew up.  Then again, many women do dream of this (present company excluded).  Putting aside my hyper-feminist voice, I have to admit that I see a very strong sense of pride in the women who are amas de casa—they are the ones who nourish the family, cherish the children, and maintain the home that keeps them.  They are the glue that keeps both family and house together.  Ama de casa more literally can be translated to “love of home”.  Isn’t that a more beautiful way of putting it, of describing these women whose lives are dedicated to loving their home inside and out?  Or better yet, saying that these women are the love of the home?  It’s not just what they do, it’s who they are.

And my host mom truly is an ama de casa.  Wilma takes pride in her family, in her children, in her husband, in her home.  Not her house, her home.  A house is the building; a home is the whole package.  For Wilma, her family comes first, for if they’re not together then what point is there?  Every moment they have together as a family is sought after and cherished. 

And I’m lucky enough to witness this.  Not only witness it, but be a part of it.  I’ve been welcomed into their family, a new daughter and sister in the home.  An hija that doesn’t quite know all of their history, an hermana that doesn’t quite get all of their inside jokes.  But I am welcome here nonetheless. 

Despite my newfound respect for the women of the house, I’m not saying that when I grow up I want to be an ama de casa.  I’m saying that I respect those women who are and who find fulfillment and joy in being the love of the home.  And more honestly, I’m admitting that I’m not sure I could be a very good ama de casa.  But I pray that given the chance I could grow to be a true ama de casa, following in the steps of all the women who have raised me and taken care of me in my life.  It would be my way of honoring them, I think, of thanking them for all of their sacrifice and love and for making me a part of their home. 

This week I go out to meet more amas de casa, to learn more about their families, to hear more about their homes.  Pray that I will meet them with an open heart, listening ears, and a curious mind. 

Stay tuned!  

The Honor of Hosting

The concept of hosting here in Nicaragua is crucial to the understanding of Nicaraguan culture.  I’m sure that somewhere here it is written on a fortune cookie: To be a bad host is to be a bad person (lucky number 7, 15, 23, 49).  When you have a guest in your household, regardless of who they are, they are your honored guest.  They are to be served their meals first; they are to sit in the best spot at the table, closest to the fan; they are to given control of the TV remote; they are to be given a good bed with all the amenities.  Essentially, they are to be taken care of so they could want for nothing.  Sounds crazy right?  I mean, they are basically asking to be taken advantage of, giving away all their stuff like that.  Who does that anymore?  Well, the Nicaraguans for starters.  Surprisingly, hosting is a two-way street.  It is not a society-approved parasitic operation; rather, it is just as much the role of the host to give as it is the guest’s role to accept what is being given.  And in this exchange of gifts, there is a silent covenant being struck: I host you so that, someday, you can host me. It’s kind of like Jesus’ command to “love one another as you love yourself” but with a twist: host one another as you would want to be hosted.

This past weekend, the Cohort of Nicaragua hosted a group of volunteers out of Muskegon, Michigan (Calvin CRC).  I am not yet living at the Caminante house but was invited to come and help lead the group and get a feel for how group are usually coordinated.  Saturday afternoon we all went to the beach to enjoy the sand and waves for a bit.  I myself am a bit scared of the Nicaraguan waves and undertow so I stayed back, sipping a coffee and admiring the beautiful waters before me.  While I was taking a walk along the beach with Adrianna, we felt a few raindrops and then in the distance we heard the loud descent of rain heading our way.  We ran as fast as we could to the safety of the restaurant but we were too late.  I was soaked and, for the first time since I’ve been here, I was cold.  It was so beautiful!

Later that evening, we took a tour of León on a tourist bus known as the bus pelón, or “bald bus”.  It’s a bus that has no top on it and it’s quite a hoot, with way to many people sitting and standing everywhere and obnoxious music blaring from the speakers.  The following morning, we all went to church at Adrianna’s church.  A normal evangelical service here is very charismatic, filled with singing, dancing, praying, and preaching with energy.  After church, we hung out at our house and shared a bit about what the Cohort is and what we do.  Several of the high schoolers seem very interested in what our program has to offer.  Hopefully they are interested enough to join us here in Central America!!

That evening, we had a girl’s sleepover at our house, just Guissell, my new friend Jovi from Haiti, and myself.  We made a great dinner from leftovers and watched Frozen together :)  It was a great way to end the weekend.

This morning I woke up with quite the cold: my nose is runny, my head pounds, and my throat aches and burns with every swallow.  I am hoping it is just a 24 hour bug and that by tomorrow I will be back to my normal self.  Please pray for a speedy recovery!

Until next time, stay tuned!

Here We Go Again

Being here is so surreal, as if I am watching Kelsey experience all of this but I'm not really here yet. It's as if I have a split personality of a sort: Central American Kelsey and Me. This is of course not an uncurable affliction--given time the two Kelsey's will merge into one being, both fully Central American and North American. In that moment, I will be at peace with my life here, fully at ease with my new surroundings. But for now, I live with two people in my head--one that's adjusting and one that knows completely what to do and say. 

To say the least this can cause some hiccups! One moment I'm fluently conversing in Spanish, enjoying myself and the feeling of being back. The next moment, I'm tripping over my words, suddenly self conscious of my actions, my thoughts wandering to a different place with different people at a different point in time.  In those moments, I feel foolish and retreat back into myself, cautious and hesitant to spread my wings again.  

My hope is that these moments will soon disappear altogether!

It's also strange because I feel older now, wizened to a certain extent. I've been here before, experienced this before, stumbled here before. I know this path I walk--in fact if I glance down I can see my own footprints in the dirt before me.  

It's almost like déjà vu but with a different flavor, not like a carbon copy of a past experience, but like a weird twin sister of past events. And so I think that's why it's so weird--I've done all of this and yet, I actually haven't.

And so I continue on this path that I've quasi-traveled before :)

                 With my host mom Wilma

Since I've arrived on Sunday, I've had nothing but a whirlwind of activities: meeting new people, visiting new places, doing new things.  I've moved in my host family and they are really great.  My host mom Wilma is an excellent cook and is helping me to get to know León, my host dad Anderson is quite the jokester, my host brother Lolo is a whiz at technology, and my host sister Sadie is my roommate and works at a university. We live only 12 blocks from the center of town and only 2 blocks from the closest open air market.  I think living here will be fun!

I've also had to learn how to get around here in town and let me tell you, my sense of direction isn't the best.  I found out that to give directions you say arriba (up) to say East and abajo (down) for West, even though everything here is flat as a pancake! I asked why, my question accompanied by my own giggles of how weird those directions are, and the response I was given is that the sun rises in the East (hence up) and sets in the West (hence down). Which totally makes sense! Haha!

I will write again soon to share with you all the activities of the weekend.  In the meantime, God Bless! 

Stay tuned!

It's Almost Here!

Just under 2 weeks before I make my way to sunny Nicaragua, my new home for a good while.  Am I nervous?  Of course.  Am I excited?  Definitely!  Am I packed?  Not one bit.

When I get to Nicaragua, my first few days will be a matter of orientation—staying at the Nehemiah Center, getting to know people, the job, and the location.  From there I will move in with my host family in León and live with them for a month or so.  Part of my job with the Nehemiah Center is coordinating the host families and familiarizing myself with different living options for students, so this month will be dedicated to learning what that's all about so I am better equipped to work with my students.  It’s also a great way for me to jump right into León life and Nicaraguan culture.  It’ll also help me brush up on my rusty Spanish :)

From the host family I will move into a house shared by some of my friends: Guissel Brenes Paz, Adrianna Oudman, and Mark Heidmann.  These three are a part of a program, called the Cohort, in which I am somewhat a leader.  Living with them is a great opportunity to get to know them better and, plus, I get to live with friends :)

Adrianna and Guiss buying house stuff

Guiss signing the lease

Guiss in front of the house

This house, currently fondly known as the Caminante house, is amazing to say the least.  I haven’t actually seen much of it, just what you see in the pictures below, but already I love it.  There’s a lot of room where we can host friends from the community, hold meetings, have bible studies, and more.  From what I’ve been told, there are 5-6 bedrooms, 5 bathrooms, a small inner courtyard, and a large from porch area (which doubles as a garage).  The landlady really wanted us to rent the place and so she spent a lot of time and money painting and updating most of the plumbing fixtures.  

And, the best part is, our total monthly rent is a bargain price of $350!  Why so cheap, you ask?  Well, the house doesn’t come with a lick of furniture—no beds, no closets, no chairs, no tables, no fridge, no stove.  So, for the first good while we are going to be Pinteresting our way into having great furniture and a great looking house on a small budget.  If you’ve got any cool ideas for us, please send them my way!

Stay tuned as I make my last minute preparations before I move!

Reverse Culture Shock

Last weekend I went to a conference in Washington DC called Ecumenical Advocacy Days (http://advocacydays.org/).  My first time ever in the capital!!  To say the least, I was pumped.  This year’s conference was called Jesus Weeps: Resisting Violence and Building Peace.  It was a gathering of 1,000 participants from all different Christian denominations, from Catholics to Mennonites to Baptists to Orthodox.  We even had a few Muslims attend!  We were all there under one roof to feel together our pull towards Shalom and our calling to advocate for nonviolence in all areas of life.  Being in the capital, a lot of the sessions and workshops focused on policies and political aspects of promoting nonviolence.  After 5 days, I walked away not only physically exhausted but also mentally exhausted as well.  My head was chucked full of so many new things and I’m still trying to process it all! 

Speaking of processing, I thought I’d share a bit about my re-entry emotions that I’m still feeling 3 months later.  Culture shock and reverse culture shock, in reality, are not really that easy to define, to pin down, to capture.  Webster’s Dictionary simply puts it as: “a feeling of confusion, doubt, or nervousness caused by being in a place (such as a foreign country) that is very different from what you are used to.”  In my opinion, there are so many sides, so many variables and manifestations that make it a complex and chaotic experience.  And yet, everyone goes through it at some point whether you’re moving to a new country or a new neighborhood.  So what does it look like for me?

No, I haven't run screaming out of a Meijers or Target because there are too many options.  No, I haven't froze to the bone and refused to leave my house.  No, I haven't gained back all the weight I lost nor have I crammed my mouth full of good ol' American food like McDonalds and Pizza Hut.  No, I haven't forgotten how to speak English (though it is hard from time to time).  And no, I haven't been completely reduced to a puddle of tears because of all the change I'm swimming in.

Being home only for a few months, all the while knowing that I’m leaving again, doesn’t help me much though.  I feel so much pressure (and desire) to re-connect with everyone—to see all of my old friends, to thank all of my donors, to be with my church and family—all before I leave again.  And at the same time, I don’t want to get too attached to everyone and everything.  It was hard enough the first time, leaving everyone behind.  This time I want that Band-Aid rip to go a little less painfully.  And yet, at the same time, I feel guilty for holding back (too many emotions at one time I know).  Add to that my confusion at how to fit in again—I’ve changed and I’m not the Kelsey I once was.  It makes me frustrated, angry, sad, lonely.  It’s like high school all over again!  Yet, I hear a lot of encouragement and it pumps me back up again, ready to face another American day. 

And I’m happy, I really am.  I’m so busy with the work that I’m doing with the CRC denomination, my church and the Nehemiah Center and I’m loving it.  It gives me not only a space to share me with others—both my story and my knowledge—as well as to teach me new things.  The downside to staying busy is that I’m avoiding times of meditation and reflection, and so I need to intentionally go to a coffee shop or library or my room to spend time alone and just think. 

So, am I handling reverse culture shock well?  Well, in a way, yes.  I am not wallowing in my grief of separation and change.  I am actively seeking ways to share my experience with others and do things that make me feel a part of the community again. 

And, in a way, no.  I am avoiding time alone where I can reflect and pray and feel.  And I’m avoiding becoming too attached to my life here again and to the people I love.  This avoidance is causing problems here and now, problems like feeling lonely even though I’m surrounded by people I love.

So, if you notice me wandering to and fro, grab me and hug me.  Trust me, I’ll appreciate that little reminder :)

Stay tuned!