This morning, I get to try my hand once again at the Spanish language, and unlike after most of my 30 second spouts this past week, I'll get a real response instead of a blank stare.  I can't guarantee that I'll be able to understand it, but full comprehension is on its way.  I hope.

   A year ago February, I started going to a meetup.com group that meets at a Panera near home just to practice with a group that ranges from native speakers to the most basic beginner, and only during those few months did my 4 years of Spanish class actually start making themselves somewhat useful.  Now, after almost 8 months of being able to find someone to talk to (en español, claro) just by heading down to the kitchen, I'm finding myself in a place where people don't understand me, at least not while hiding behind a language that's not my own. 

   I've said it before, sometimes things are easier to say in someone else's native tongue.  When I spoke in front of Vida Joven, having everything written out word for word made sense, but what about this Thurs. when I'm asked to share about the trip.  The wall that separated me from my audience in April, the glass wall that somehow made it less real and therefore easier, won't be there.  I might bring notes, but I won't have everything right in front of me.

   I feel I understand myself a lot better than I did a few months ago and I've had some major emotional and spiritual breakthroughs just this past week, but I'm not quite sure how to explain how much those victories mean to people who didn't have to witness the battle.  Even in English, especially in English, I still have to learn to a speak in a way people will understand. 

   This morning I get to answer the question, in Spanish, how was your trip.  Amazing, challenging, overwhelming, boring at times.  No sé. Then, after a few hours reminiscing how it feels to live in someone else's world, I'll be coming back to mine, hopefully with a few more ideas as to how to explain myself to a world which can never truly understand.

 

 

 

 

 

In a place where even the guidebooks say you have a pretty good chance of finding anyone in town if you know their neighbor's name and how far it is from the nearest church,

 

 Almost a week later, I'm still not sure how to finish that thought.  All I know is that the hidden, impersonal thoughts of an airport computer system will be revealed tomorrow.  At least the part that has the printer spit out a ticket with my name on it.

 

It'll have a seat # on it.  The computer will spit out 6 other tickets that share the same flight #, time, date.  Theirs will have a seat number on it- a seat that is open to any of us.  We're all ending up in the same place-  for less than a week. 

 

And then next Saturday, I'll be sleeping in a bed that is but no longer feels like mine.  After renewing my license and reinstating the insurance, I'll be driving familiar but strangely distant streets- alone.

 

Without a taxi driver that knows the quickest way to every street, landmark, and paneria in town, there leaves open the possibility of getting lost.  If I'm not following the kid in the red shirt and blue bike, how will I know whether to continue straight or take a sharp left.

 

As I walk down to the end of Santa Lucia for the last time tonight and yell out adios to each family just hanging out on the front porch, I know that I'll quickly relearn how to live in a place where walking at all is not as common as it should be and most neighbors stay nameless. And yet at the same time I hope I don't forget what it feels like to turn the corner after running down to the lake and rest on El Puente's steps.  I love this place, but I'm ready to take the lessons it's implanted in my heart and mind and come home. 

 

I'll see many of ya soon.

Having looked through the last 100 Novas blogs and having seen that none of them have been from me, I feel this is as good as a time as any to give you a glimpse of how quickly the last few weeks seem to have slipped away. 

 

 Generally, I can count on weekends to spend a few hours at trusty Cafe Email, where 100 cords (about five bucks) allows for 10 hours of time on one of their desktops.  Originally, that 10 hours didn't last very long, relatively speaking.  A few afternoons of 2-3 hours each and it disappeared a little more quickly than I'd like.

 

Lately however, I've been slipping on for 2-3 minutes at a time at a friends house or whenever possible, mostly because our weekends have been spent elsewhere.  Two weeks ago we went to Masaya, a local town with a fairly large artesians market, and then to the zoo in Managua, which happens to cost less to enter than the bus fare to get there.  Even so, they had a pretty impressive display of animals, including the chance to stare eye to eye with a croc, with only two chain link fences stuck to each other separating you, and of course a few foreigners se llaman ardillas (squirrels).  Seriously though, it was pretty nice, with toucans, lions, jags, monkeys, a huge snake that was luckily better housed than the little one in the aquarium with a tin roof.

 

Last week I was blessed with the chance to spend the weekend at Campo Alegria in Rivas with a group from the dump here in Granada, and then since there was extra room, I was able to bring along a few of the neighbors that I've been hanging out with as well.

 

Being so close to the beach, we spent quite a bit of time in Lake Nica, which can have surprisingly large waves for a lake.  Now I want to revisit Lake Erie just to see.  Even so, the water is so shallow that the two people making up the farthest corners of the fairly large square that the kids had to stay into were about stomach deep, depending of course on the height of both the "tree" (lifeguard/ watcher person) and the waves.

 

 Even after spending an entire weekend surrounded by kids, where you're under the same curfew as them and any chance to sit (or walk) without someone hanging on to you is appreciated, I still think working at one for a longer period of time would be something that I might possibly almost enjoy. 

 

 I'm not known as the most energetic person alive, but something about laughing after falling into someone after spinning with my head to a mini bat says that maybe, just maybe, I could survive the dreaded camp games that I've been known to sit out during. 

 

And then I could encourage those that remind me so much of myself- longing to play but not quite knowing how.

 

Holding a homesick girl's hand and telling her about how this is the longest I've ever been away from home or looking straight into a girls wet eyes as she asked me to pray with her to accept Christ only to look up and see the rest of the girls crying by our side, I felt last weekend that the long hours, the loss of dignity, the stripping of my pride and energy only to be rejuvenated with the endurance and joy I've longed for, would definitely be worth it.

 

 Give and take.  I don't know what I'll do this summer.  I don't know whether I'll try to find a camp that's running a little late on filling their open positions or use the free time to work on guitar, violin, catch up on some reading etc.

 

I'll never forget last weekend though and how much a bunch of preteens taught me about letting go of my reserve for their sakes, seeing through the tears, and seeing them as God sees me.

 

I'll be home in a little over 2 weeks and I can't promise you that you won't recognize me.   I can't promise that I'll be half-way decent at the game Curses, or know what to do at a dance party.  I can't promise that I'll have really found a voice that doesn't tend to fade into the distance.  

 

But even when I have a hard time seeing how, I know I've grown and I know that I'll be better able to sympathize because of my internal battles.  It's all good!  (Rom 8:28)

 

  ¨I don't want to use the people there to fulfill my daily Spanish fix or to reaffirm a insecure heart that it is loved, needed and useful. The worship is not for the purpose of fulfilling a temporary spiritual fix and my team has a greater purpose than to make me feel included in something amazing...

 

I´m still not fluent in Spanish, or spoken English for that matter, but by continually reminding  myself of where I was and where God has promised to lead me, I'm much more likely to keep moving in the right direction.

At least three times a week, Gilberto, Liana, y yo asistimos a Vida Joven, the Young Life group that meets at El Puente.  Asistir means to attend with no connotations of helping out, and until recently, I felt as if, personally, that was all I was doing- showing up, attending the leader meetings, coming to the bible studies, being there- and that it wasn't enough; that because I wasn't speaking up, my presence wasn't necessary.  I understood what was going on, for the most part at least, but I still didn't really feel a part of it, like I didn't have a right to call myself a participant, never mind a leader.

 

I let myself get discouraged, again, that I was not doing; that I couldn't think on my feet (in another language nonetheless), come up with genious ideas, or dance out in front for the amusement of others. 

 

Yet lately I have really been challenged to consider the fruit growing out of sight, and therefore out of mind. 

 

By just being there, I've had the opportunity to witness the brokenness of former and current gang members, especially at VJ camp last weekend.  Although we went to serve in the kitchen, we were given the chance to pray for and with the students who were coming in after a surrender walk.  Although I thought I was there to cut veggies and wash dishes, by simply being available I was able to pray and cry with a girl who has had some pretty steep walls built up.  When in one of our prayer meetings we were to turn and speak life into the person to our side, I had the chance to encourage a gang leader on a personal level, simply because I know him.  Whether in our weekly prayer meetings, in the worship before the weds night bible study, thurs afternoon jicaro (bracelet making to raise $ for VJ) or during thurs night club itself, I've been able to see and welcome and speak to people I can't really relate to in the streets, but because I'm around, they know my name and I know theirs.

 

Experiences and invested time never go to waste.  I'm not here for a program or to see a program grow.  I'm here for people, including and especially myself.  I'm here to water and let myself be watered.  I'm here to grow.   If that's all that happens in these six months it would be more than enough, but because I'm here, I get the priviledge to witness and come alongside others who are walking the same road.

 

Although I still wish I had a chance to sit down with his full 6 page story, here is the testimony of a friend who's life turned 180 because people were willing to just be Christ to him.

 

 

Yeah- I know.  This is cheating, using Amber´s pic (and only one at that) but hey.  Poco a poco.  Everyone was ready to leave and I couldn´t find the cord immediately and you know.  Plus, I´m not very good at documenting stuff.  We just came back from debrief at the beach (with Tyler!) and I have no pics of my own to prove it. 

 

At times I wish I had the end result, an awesome pic, but have no desire to take the steps necessary to make it happen. Whipping out a camera can be an inconvenience and draws attention to oneself and I guess since I usually don´t appreciate people shooting me, I find myself assuming that others wouldn´t care for it either.

Letting people capture a moment can be risky.  There´s a few facebook pics that I desperately wish I could convince people to delete, but without getting over the threat of what if I blink and everyone laughs at the weird face, there´s no chance of getting a good one. 

 

With that in mind though, making that moment can be equally scary, if not more so.

 

Like trying to get me into that dress.  Since I´ve gotten a bit bored with the three skirts to my name, for our Valentine´s Day outing, I gathered up the courage to ask to borrow someone else´s but actually letting myself step out into something unfamiliar took a little more convincing.

 

Poco a poco.   It´s scary letting oneself be caught in the unexpected, leaving the girls´room when all of the guys, including a few Nicaraguan friends, are playing with iguanas on the porch.  It´s risky to let someone zoom in and adjust the focus so that every fault is clear.  Every misplaced hair is obvious.  Bruises can show up when people get that close. 

 

Yet without allowing for the chance for something to go wrong, the chance for capturing a moment gone right, whether on film or simply in ones memory, is slim.  Without letting people get close enough to see the imperfections, their ability to see and take part in the good is limited.

 

Then, not only would I have no pictures but no stories either.

 

 

 

Monday I decided that if I would spend this week being an annoying turist and take non-stop pictures of things that we´re pretty used to seeing by now, then I won´t need to whip out the camera again for quite a while.  That lasted about a day so yes, I do have a few photos around El Puente, Hogar de Ancianos, a few goats in the street, etc. but over these next few weeks I´ll try to a better job about sharing some of the awesomeness I get to see in a typical day.

 

 

 Home for now- this is right outside the dorms at El Puente, where we hang out, have  meetings etc. and the view from one of those actually somewhat comfortable wooden chairs.

   <--The Prayer House I´ve been talking about.  Please pray for us.

 

More later.   Sry- I´ll try not to make ya wait too long!

  First off, lo siento for randomly skipped weeks or a lack of a real update as to what goes on here.   Generally, I am able to make it to a cafe, but sometimes I end up spending so much time trying to write something out that would sound coherant and relatively well-written that I run out of time and end up with nothing at all. 

 

  That said, the following is something I started last week so I might as well share it, even though  it's already a few times the size of something most people would be willing to read and to be honest I'm not quite sure where it's going. I seem to be writing how I think.  If I'm not careful, this could easily become the intro of the first volume of a trilogy, so I'll just let you make of it as you will.

 

 2/6

  I think of wading through a river that Sunday afternoon, still within sight of the van, and wondering what I've gotten myself into.  I think of standing at the top of an extremely steep incline Monday evening and letting myself become so paralyzed by fear of falling down it (which would have simply been a faster way of getting there) that the rest of the team had to go ahead and set up camp without one of the leaders and I.  I think of Tuesday afternoon trying to climb back up that mountain and finding myself face down stubbornly insisting that others just pass by and let me sulk in peace.  I think of Thursday morning and wishing that instead of team building activities, I had another day of hiking; another chance to prove myself to myself.