10...9...8...7...

We are almost ready for blast off, folks.  In 10 days, my next batch of students will arrive bright-eyed and travel-weary to the small airport of Augusto Sandino.  A greeting of humid air and my smiling face and waving hands is the extent of their grand welcoming party to the city of Managua.  And so will begin their journey from naïve and curious students to savvy cross-cultural vagabonds.  Their mission: survive the next 3 ½ months of classes, trips, language acquisition, homestays, foreign foods and power-sapping heat.  My mission: make it the best experience they’ve ever had.

Now, I’m not boasting in my extraordinary skills at accommodating “greenies” to the international playground I currently play in.  Nor am I touting my refined skills at teaching and providing inspiring guidance to those caught in the murky whirlpools of cross-cultural living.  What I’m saying is that I enjoy setting for myself such lofty goals so as to push myself to go the extra mile and do it even better than last time.  I know what I’m capable of, but I also know how easy it is to become cozy in the arms of “excellence”.  So, there will be none of that here.  I will celebrate, yes, by patting myself on the back and eating my favorite ice cream (pitahaya) BUT then I put my game face back on and jump back into the arena.  My goals are high, but my determination is even higher.

Thinking of my new students, I can’t help but put myself into their shoes and remember what it was like for me.  I can’t forget those first few steps I took into a bright and scary new world known as Costa Rica and then later in Nicaragua.  I may have played it off as cool, but on the inside I was terrified.  I had absolutely no idea what to expect, which makes it incredibly difficult to properly prepare yourself for anything.  Essentially, I lived those first few months on the tips of my toes, agilely and clumsily dodging and weaving and fighting any obstacle that suddenly found its way onto my path.  I could only react to the world around me, never predict.  But then, slowly and after many a sleepless night, a miracle happened.  I was no longer afraid.  The next day no longer was such a scary monster to me; instead, it presented itself as a semi-known challenge that I would (and could) face. 

So, in these past few months but most especially in these past few days, I have been doing my best to prepare my corner of Nicaragua for these 8 students.  I haven’t fallen for the lie that I can take away the scary mystery of living here, but I can set up ways to provide support for the students when they face those moments of unsureness and fear.  I can’t write up a list of “Things to Do in Nicaragua so that You Never Have a Bad Day”, but I can provide a list of resources to provide more insight into the culture and life here.  I can’t de-bug and de-parasite the entire nation so that no student will ever get sick, but I can teach host families and students to be aware of hygiene and to use caution in food and beverage consumption.  I can’t make the world perfect, but I can be there when you fall down.

I’m excited.  I’ll admit it.  I can’t wait to meet these 8 students in person (finally!).  I’ve only been thinking about them since they signed up way back in April.  I know their profiles by heart.  I can guess at their personality and sense of humor through the emails I have had with them.  I know what they look like and who will stick out here in a crowd and who will blend right in.  I know them, and yet I am so very aware that they are still a complete mystery to me.  I’m antsy and I simply cannot wait to finally meet the person behind the name and to have the privilege of walking alongside of them during their journey this semester.

Please pray for these students.  Pray that they come open-hearted, open-minded, and open-eyed.  Pray that they will be touched by the Nicaraguans here and that they will in turn touch the lives of those they come to know.  Pray for our faculty and staff.  Pray for perseverance and energy and joy, even when the number of papers to grade seems just too many.  Pray for our host families.  Pray for patience and guidance and wisdom, especially when they just can’t understand their student’s broken Spanish.  And finally, please pray for me.  Pray for wisdom and perseverance and joy, especially as this semester will be my last here in Nicaragua (and you know I hate goodbyes).

Stay tuned!      

A Heart-tree

This morning I prayed in what felt like a very long time.  Not that I haven’t prayed recently!  No, what I mean is a time set aside for nothing but prayer, a time dedicated to a true deep conversation between me and God.  Not one that existed only as a short prayer in my mind, not a mental chit-chat with the Almighty, not a series of “text messages” sent up to Him to give him a few updates on my life.  No, this one was deeper and more powerful for me not only because it was very intentional but also for the very fact that I spoke to him.

There’s something powerful behind saying things out loud.  Confessing them with my mind and heart seems easier somehow than confessing with my lips.  Unfortunately, it’s also less impactful.  Praying audibly worked a strange magic over me this morning.  I was reminded of the power words can have when God spoke creation into existence (Genesis 1), when Jesus tells us by our words we will be judged (Matthew 12: 33-37), when Paul encourages us to not only believe in our hearts but to also confess aloud our faith as believers (Romans 10: 8-10), when we are warned of the destructive power the tongue can have (James 3: 1-18), and when God promised that in the end all tongues will confess that Jesus is Lord of all (Philippians 2).  Yes, it’s a bit awkward at first, speaking to thin air and hearing only your voice in this conversation.  But a few moments later and the awkwardness fades away into something much more beautiful: a heartfelt confession to the One my heart knows is with me always.  Within His presence, there is no shame, no doubt, no fear.  It’s just a daughter speaking with her Father in a long overdue conversation.

And so we talked. And talked.  And talked.

At some point during my prayer, I was praying for someone dear to me and asking for God to send this person a rather large hug.  Not just any hug, I’m talking a massive bear-hug that won’t let you go no matter how hard you try.  I asked God not just to show this person His love, but to drown them in it.  Ok, a bit strong of a metaphor but I sincerely meant it.  Why?  I admitted to God that I felt like this person’s heart was hardened and would need something powerful to make it feel again.  I then said that this person’s heart wasn’t like Pharaoh’s heart—it wasn’t like stone.  No, it was more like the bark of a tree—hard on the outside to protect the softness within.

The very interesting spiked Ceiba tree
found here in Central America

What a beautiful picture that is.  A heart like a tree’s bark. 

The more I thought about this metaphor, the more I liked it.  A heart like a tree.  I then realized that I didn’t want this person to lose their bark of protection—they very much needed it.  Instead, I prayed for this person’s bark to be strong against the evils of this world, keeping out things like malice, greed, apathy, and envy.  And then I prayed for God to make this person’s roots of their heart-tree grow strong and deep, to drink up the nutrients of God’s blessings and to be strengthened by things like joy, patience, mercy, and love.  Love like a bear hug.  I prayed for their heart to have strong bark, but soft roots. 

A heart-tree.

What does your heart-tree look like? 

Stay tuned!

The Wheels on the Bus

A large percentage of my life here in Nicaragua consists of riding public transportation: taxis, bikes, buses, trucks, tricículos, mototaxis—you name it, I’ve been on it.  Today was no exception.  Today, I spent a whopping 4 hours on the bus transiting between León and Managua.  Since public transportation is still a rare thing in the United States, I thought I’d share with you a little bit of what it’s like to experience such an adventure. 

Hello, my name is: BUS.  You’ve probably seen someone like me in your neighborhood, filled with schoolchildren on the way to class.  In your mind, picture this beautiful yellow school bus.  Now, add 20 years—enough age so that there are rust spots and torn cushions and maybe a tiny hole in the floor or two.  Now add a few repairs and some updates to give me some new life: paint me with bright colors (some that clash a bit too), add a decal of a Christian blessing or of Jesus or a rosary, throw in some colorful streamers, a luggage rack on top and inside, and don’t forget some new speakers.  Yes, do you see it now?  That’s me :)

Now these buses are the cheaper way to travel throughout the country: my total trip today cost me 80 córdobas (just under $3).  These buses are fondly known around the globe as “chicken buses”—which is quite the misnomer here as I’ve only seen a total of two chickens ever while riding on the bus.  Mainly, these buses are crammed to the brim with all sorts of cargo (humans, baskets, produce, tires, furniture, etc.).  These buses are not the fastest mode of transportation as they tend stop every little bit or so to let anyone on and anyone off.  If you want to hop on the bus, just stick out your hand to wave it down.  If you want off the bus, just whistle loudly or yell at the driver.  High-pitched whistles mean both stop and go here.  When people are getting off, you’ll hear several men yelling, “Suave! Suave!” telling the bus driver to “hang on just a sec” and then when everyone’s set to go either you’ll hear a high pitched whistle or someone will yell, “Jale!”  It’s a very sophisticated system. 

The bus driver today,
surrounded by some lovely streamers

Now mind you, these buses were built to hold around 60 small schoolchildren.  At its fullest, I bet these buses hold double that of adults.  It’s tight.  The seats each carry two or three people.  The aisle is packed two-by-two.  Sprinkle in some people every so often who hop on to sell home-cooked goodies or something to drink (very handy if you’re suddenly craving something).  Wind ever blowing in your face, Spanish pop music blaring from the speakers, and people pressing in on you from every side, these long bus rides are the perfect place to catch a nap.  Every time I’m on the bus now, I am either taking a nap or trying very very hard not to fall asleep.  Instead of narcolepsy, I must have a bad case of buscolepsy…  When you need to get off, well, you need to wiggle and squeeze your way through this human barrier to either exit out the front door or the back door (aka the emergency hatch).  The emergency hatch is sometimes the easier way to go as more people crowd in the front.  Then again, you have to yell or whistle much louder from the back to indicate to the driver that you would like to get off as soon as possible. 

Every single time, it’s an adventure.  You’re never quite sure if the bus you’re riding will break down along the way.  You’re ever so pleased when you don’t have to run to catch the bus, but you’re even more impressed with your athletic ability when you do.  Every time you exit the bus it’s a miraculous event—how could that many people fit in there and how in the world did I manage to squeeze my way out??` And at the end of the day, you’ve saved so much money by cramming into various modes of public transportation that you can treat yourself to a nice ice cream cone :)  Like this one:

Stay tuned!

Waiting in Hope

A week ago today I was sitting in Honduras, staring into the flames of a bonfire on a mountainside just outside of the capital of Tegucigalpa.  My senses were drinking in the beauty around me, savoring the smells of burning wood and pine trees, reveling in the goosebumps on my arms from the chill of the air and the heat of the fire.  Surrounding me was the cheerful company of a mixed sort: missionaries from World Renew and Christian Reformed World Missions, volunteers from the Cohort program, friends from the organization AJS (Association for a more Just Society), and children of the aforementioned persons.  Finding myself momentarily lacking conversation partners, my attention was quickly absorbed by the fire before me, as a moth to the flame.  Many a thought flitted across my mind, there for a second and gone the next.  One, however, kept popping to the surface: hope.

I have been gnawing on this subject for the past couple of months, trying to grasp what that abstract word really means.  Hope.  When you think of it, what comes to mind?  For me, for some reason the color blue comes to mind.  Blue is peaceful, calm, centered.  To me, that’s what hope is like.  I’m sure some of Obama’s campaigns have also influenced my thought associations :)  But obviously hope is bigger than a color, much much bigger.  What do you think of when I say the word hope?  Even more, what gives you hope?

Visiting with the Cohort missioners
in Mangulile, Honduras

In Honduras, I asked my group of Cohort missioners the very same question: what is hope?  In the everyday trenches of life, what are the things that give you hope?  I wasn’t interested in hearing the Sunday School response of “God”—I wanted something more tangible than that.  Yes, God gives us hope—but how?  The responses I heard that evening were each unique and equally profound.  One friend brought up Psalm 77 and how, by it, he is reminded to be hopeful by remembering the past and seeing the places where God’s hand has been.  Look back—where do you see God’s presence in your story?  What miracles has he shown you?  What strength of faith and character has he given you in difficult moments?  Remember that and hope.  Another friend said that while being hopeful ever looks to the future (to restoration and shalom), it can also be seen in the little things right here and now.  Seeing the bright eyes of a newborn baby, observing a moment of kindness or humility from an unexpected person or place, seeing something beautiful in a place where no beauty should be found, praising God in worship with brothers and sisters from around the world—these are the moments where hope can be seen most visible.  These are the moments where hope manifests so obviously you just want to reach out and touch it.

After hearing these wonderful responses, a thought of my own jumped into my mind.  The word for “hope” in Spanish is esperanza.  This word derives from the word esperar which has two connotations: “to hope” and “to wait”.  The Spanish language does not differentiate between the two, but in English we do.  Never before had I ever intentionally connected the words “to wait” and “to hope” together in English, but now I was curious.  Today I stumbled upon a very popular verse in the Bible: Isaiah 40:31.  And guess what?  The NIV version says “those who hope in the Lord” and the KJV says “those who wait upon the Lord”.  Could the two words be more connected than I thought?  Could there be hope in the waiting?  This brings to mind my blog post from a few weeks back (“The Ache of Rain”) in which I explored the intensity of waiting.  Looking at my examples, I realize something now that I didn’t see before: there was Hope in the wait Sarah and Abraham endured; there was Hope in the 40 years in the wilderness; there is Hope in the return of our Lord and Savior. 

In the spirit of 1 Corinthians 13, I’d like to share my own version for Hope: “Hope is patient, hope is kind.  It does not give up, it does not despair, it is not weak.  It looks to the past, it embraces the moment, and it believes in the future.  Hope does not delight in misery, but rejoices in the truth.  It always expects, always trusts, always persists, always endures.”

Stay tuned!

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!