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!

The Hottest Week of my Life

I have a love-hate relationship with fans.  Without them I could quite possibly die.  But they sure do make my life miserable.  The constant barrage of warm-hot air assaults my poor baby skin and causes it to resemble a dried up lake-bed.  My hair, not strong enough to resist the fan’s power, whips back and forth in an infinitely annoying manner.  My eyes, victims of constant air bombardment, lack the proper lubrication to make them happy.  The dust sails through the air at my face causing me to be attacked by all sorts of allergens and infectious diseases.  The never-ending hum-drum of the rotating propellers is enough of a lullaby to woo you into a deep slumber at night… OR the never-ending hateful din is enough to keep you from sweetly dreaming.  It’s always a toss-up.   

Then again, the fan sends enough air movement my way to lightly brush the sweat gathered in various locations, offering a brief yet satisfying respite from the heat waves of Hades’ realm.  By no means is it a minty arctic kiss from someone who’s just finished their York peppermint patty… but I’ll take it.

This week, more than all the weeks past, has chosen to be quite an inconvenient adversary.  I have tried to refuse its Trojan horse, a beautiful wooden structure depicting scenes of a tropical paradise but inside hiding adjectives such as “insufferable” and “unbearable”… But it seems you cannot refuse the weather.  So, we have needed to come up with ingenious battle strategies to combat this impressive foe!  Frequent ice water breaks are mandatory every day.  A sweat rag at the ready to clear one’s brow of unwanted condensation.  Cold showers both in the morning (to rinse off night-sweat) and in the evening (to rinse off day-sweat).  Our most impressive battle strategy this week came in the form of a small kiddie pool which we’ve conveniently set up in the middle of our living room.  The small oasis is large enough to accommodate several persons comfortably.  It is also doubling as quite the impressive work space—with chairs as our desks we are allowed to continue working throughout the hottest parts of the day in relative comfort.  Take that, oh Oppressive Heat!!

This week, despite the coma-inducing heat wave, I’ve managed to be quite the productive woman.  I’ve successfully navigated my way to a previously unknown location using public transport, I’ve conquered countless Skype and in-person meetings, I’ve nearly finished writing a large research paper for my Master’s class, I’ve half convinced various people to come back to Nicaragua to work with us at the Nehemiah Center, I’ve successfully deferred jury duty, I’ve cleaned my room and done some laundry, I’ve even shaved my legs.  Oh!  And I’ve signed a contract with the Nehemiah Center stating that I agree to act as the Program Coordinator for the SPIN study abroad program through this December.  Now I just need to renew my Partner Missionary contract with CRWM and fundraise me some pesos and I’ll be all set to go.  I mean stay. 

Which reminds me!  I, Kelsey Davies, am humbly asking everyone (yes you!) for your support in these upcoming months.  This petition is not solely for money—I am also asking for emotional and spiritual support through this time so that I can do my job well and finish out the year strong.  I cannot do this without you—you are my community and my family.  Please send me an email or Facebook me if you’re interested!    

Stay tuned!  More slightly annoying fundraising petitions and campaigns to follow... :)

The Glam of Easter

Sigh.  It’s over.  Life is back to normal…people working, children studying, blah blah blah.  If only Easter could last all year!

Unbeknownst to some, Easter actually kicks off 40 days prior when we have the annual competition of Lent, where we see who can temporarily sacrifice the most.  We have Palm Sunday, where we get to wave palm fronds around and sing fun songs.  We have Holy Week, which isn’t nearly as exciting as it should be… but then comes Good Friday!  Which is actually bad because Jesus died but also good because he died for us, or something like that.  Good Friday is a sad day where we go to church and sing funeral like songs and reflect on Jesus’ death.  Saturday is a filler day.  Then it’s Easter Sunday!!  The moment we’ve all been waiting for!  We wake up, put on our new Easter Sunday clothes (usually in a variety of pastel colors a la Spring Fashion).  We go to church where we sing some more joyous songs, everyone’s happy, we take Communion to celebrate in Jesus’ sacrifice, we probably sing some more, and then we go home.  Usually our families gather together for this super-Christian day and we all eat a fantastic feast, maybe even search for Easter eggs, delight in Peeps and chocolate eggs, and then crash into a happy sleep at the end of the day.

While I exaggerate, isn’t there some truth to what I’ve described?  Honestly, this is what I thought of Easter for much of my childhood.  Thankfully, I’ve come to a deeper realization about Easter in my adulthood.  Easter truly is the most inspirational and pensive time of year.  What other time of year to we all intentionally ponder, marvel and cry at the sacrifice of Jesus?  Easter is the pinnacle of both deep sadness and overwhelming hope.  But Easter is a journey, not a moment, in which we walk along in the grayness of death (Lent), lift high Jesus as our Savior (Palm Sunday), grieve at his tomb (Good Friday), and rejoice at his resurrection and his victory over the Enemy (Easter). 

Worldwide, this is a time of year where Christians become vocal about their faith, serious in what they believe, and not afraid to say it.  “This is what Christianity is all about,” we say.  Together, we take part in the Eucharist to communally proclaim Jesus as the bread of Life and the light of Truth.  We cry together, laugh together, sing together, believe together.  This is the Church.

But now what?  Easter is done.  The familiar rhythm of life has started up once more.  We are once again caught up in the wheel of surviving day to day life.  Soon, the Easter lilies in our vases will whither away and die.  Soon, the leftovers from Easter dinner will be eaten, our new Sunday clothes will be stored away, the Peeps all eaten.  Spring will turn to summer.  Time will pass and Easter will be nothing more than a faint memory… 

How do we keep Easter alive in our hearts?  

Choose Truth

An elephant sits in the room, there in the corner, as big as life itself and yet hidden from view.  People walk past, shield their eyes from the sight, and continue on as if they had not seen a thing.  But if one were to look closely, if one were to pay attention, that person would realize a name tag hung from the elephant’s neck with large bold letters identifying it as “TRUTH”.  However, now that the name of the elephant is known, what should be done about it?  Should the person set the elephant free?  Should the elephant be sent elsewhere?  Should the person change the name tag to a less offensive or more obscure name?  Or should it continue to be ignored?

We’ve all been there.  We’ve all been in a situation where seeing the elephant in the room and letting the Truth out seems like an unthinkable option.  Best to keep quiet.  Best to keep the facts between a few selected people.  Best to let others live in bliss and keep the harsh Truth from their little innocent selves.  Besides, saying the Truth out loud could cause a ripple effect of consequences that we are unprepared (cough cough unwilling) to handle. 

And so we ignore that little big elephant over there in the corner. 

The funny thing is: everyone can feel the elephant in the room even if they can’t see it.  They know someone is breathing up a lot of oxygen in the room; they know that certain people avoid walking near a certain corner for some reason; they know that something is different and no one will tell them what it is.

So the rumor mill starts. 

“I hear that one of us really messed up and they want to fire that person.  That’s why they’re whispering so much.” 

“I hear that so-and-so cheated on so-and-so, but no one wants to tell him.”

“I can’t quite put my finger on it, guys, but I’m pretty sure something bad is going down.  Maybe one of our bosses is quitting?”

“Money.  It’s always about money.  Either some is missing or some is being cut from the budget.  That’s why they look so worried.”

“I hear that in that corner there’s a gas leak, but they don’t want anyone to panic so they haven’t told anyone yet.  But they’re working on fixing it.”

Pretty soon, the rumors become so alive that they start to choke the life out of the not-yet-said Truth.  In this battle, the rumors may win and even if the Truth is finally admitted, no one is going to believe it.

All because we didn’t have the courage (read vulnerability) to admit the Truth. 

Jesus tells us very clearly that this is not the way we are to live.  He says to us: “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (John 14:6).  He wants us to embrace him as Truth because in Truth, there is freedom and there is life.

Today, I encourage you to seek out that grace-filled Truth.  I encourage you to be vulnerable to admit what’s really going on.  I encourage you to be courageous and choose Truth over rumors, Truth over the easy way out, Truth over keeping an elephant as a pet. 

Stay tuned!  


Photo credit: http://blog.dyslexicadvantage.org/2015/01/27/being-dyslexic-the-elephant-in-the-room/