I realize this is long... but this is from the HEART, man!!

I never liked people calling what I did a “mission trip”. It was the easiest thing to refer to it as, but I always loathed it. Mission trips are fickle. Mission trips are something you embark on for a few days, weeks, months. Mission trips make your conscience feel better and open your eyes for a moment…as short or as long as it lingers, it still lasts for just a moment. Mission trips are mere glimpses into other countries, into the lives of others around the world. That’s all it is—a glimpse. How could you possibly get to know an entire country when you have a time limit?

I hated being labeled with the terms "tourist" and "mission trip" so much that I complained to the Kolbs about it. Carrie told me something interesting: "You're not a tourist. Tourists and backpackers have no obligations when they go to different countries... they don't try to create relationships. But you're LIVING here. You're helping us move in and learning about the country and making relationships. You will always be able to say that you lived in Nicaragua for three months."

There's a HUGE difference, which I am extremely adamant about. And I know for sure that I didn't learn everything there is to learn about Nicaragua for my extended stay... but it bugs the crap out of me when people visit for an even shorter time and suddenly assume an air of superior knowledge.

Usually people on mission trips stay with some sort of organization, and have arranged meals and arranged lodgings. Everything is arranged for their comfort—everything is carefully laid out for the travelers. And the travelers “oooh” and “ahhh” over the quaintness, the difference, perhaps even charm that a third-world has churned out for them who are doing God’s work. It makes them feel good inside, like a better person for having seen another part of the world. They work in the dirt, the mud, with poor people who come willingly for help and to help. They do arranged activities and pray with people in the arranged places.

Then they go home at the arranged time, proclaiming themselves a changed person. They stand in front of the church and speak about their arranged experiences. They make everyone else feel good inside too, for having sponsored and supported and prayed over the travelers successfully. And then life goes on. The travelers are back in their large houses and comfortable lives, and they feel wonderful for fulfilling God’s plan, for being so “uncomfortable” for a time.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not against mission trips, and I’m not against catching glimpses of other countries. If you say God led you to that trip and that country, I will sit and listen to your story. But if you say that your ten-day trip has entirely opened your eyes and that it was the best experience anyone could have and that you really feel you made a large impact and that your life and their lives were forever changed… I will get up and leave the room. Confide in someone else about it because I will be of no use to you and vice versa. Yes, you helped them for a while—but they are still in the dirt and the mud while you are back to your privileged life. You have the option to move about—in most cases, they are forced to stay in the lives they’ve always had. Are you sure what you are doing actually has anything to do with them?

Do you truly want to make an impact? Move there. Do you really want to change the lives of others? Brace yourself. I firmly believe the most effective way to impact people, to impact a country, to impact the world, is to move to said country. To move, to make friends, to build a life for yourself with the same people you are trying to help, in the same dirt and mud. Don’t you know how much it touches other people when they realize you’re there to stay with them? When they discover that you’re willing to do what it takes to live in the country? You must make EFFORTS for them. That’s when they see something different about you… something that either makes you insane or perhaps like Jesus. Jesus hung with the lowest of the low. Honestly, I don’t think He’d spend much time in America if He were here. Sure, He might step in every once in a while and say, “What’s up, dude?” but I believe He’d be more likely to be in Nicaragua saying “Que onda, mae?” or in any other country saying the same thing (but in different languages according to the location). Maybe we don’t see Him much in America because it’s our comfort zone and He wants us to get out of it.

Now I’m not saying everyone has to get the hell out of America and spontaneously move to a new country. Not everyone can do that… everyone has a different calling. Also, people who DO have that calling shouldn’t just go whenever—they must go once they feel God egging them on. It’s God’s timing that is right, not yours. Certainly not mine, in case you think I’m screaming at everyone to leave (yeah, I’m totally trying to get people to leave the country so I can claim the land for my own and name it Ashleytopia).

I’m trying to get my point across. You create more waves once you have made the effort to reach out, once you have the time to reach out, once you have people to reach out to. For all those natives willing to help and be ministered to at those mission trips, there are thousands more who aren’t willing. And that’s fine. You aren’t there to change their minds… not really. You aren’t there to madly convert the hell out of everyone you see—what kind of God would want that? Be their friend. Be an example. Live how Jesus did, but always remember that you are human and make mistakes. Once people see that in you, they will realize you are the real thing and that you aren’t the same as everyone else who prays and then hops on a plane ride home. Suffer with them. Live with them, as Jesus did.

Course, you can’t create waves without Satan seeking you out and attacking relentlessly. And it sucks. I know this firsthand: Carrie once mentioned to me how she knew I was being attacked because she had never seen me cry so much. It absolutely sucks to be spiritually attacked any country… ESPECIALLY a country you aren’t used to. But if he’s not at your throat, you ain’t doing it right. And you know what? You’ve already won the battle—you’ve made it there, haven’t you? Stick it out, give it to God lay it in His hands, and you will emerge laughing at the devil for what he couldn’t do to you.

The other day I was speaking with someone (remaining anonymous, out of courtesy and plus I didn’t ask first if I could spread this to the world) about the Kolb’s absence. She said she couldn’t stand other people constantly going on and on about how much they miss the Kolbs. Yeah, we all miss them and they were my and your close friends and family—we understand and respect that. But—these are my own words now—it is hard to remain sympathetic with you when you constantly dwell on their absence and always tell them how much they are missed and wanted. Look, they didn’t call themselves to Nicaragua; God did. Take it up with Big Guns Upstairs who can handle anything you say, not the Kolbs themselves. I know it may seem cruel for me of all people to say this, since I alone spent three months with them—but come on! It’s not healthy to show the Kolbs how much you regret the absence that was God’s intention. They have enough love for you and Nicaragua simultaneously. Accept God’s plan for them, like they graciously have already, and set them free. Don’t you think it’s better for them to hear “I love you,” and “I support you,” instead of “I miss you” all the time?

I don’t know, they might feel differently. This is strictly my own opinion… maybe I’m getting all riled up on their defense for naught. But I do know this: when God provides the opportunity for them to come back to America, whether for vacation or to move back, they will come back to you with the same open arms they extended to Nicaragua.

And it is my prayer that you will open your arms to wherever it is God leads you too—be it America, in Nicaragua, or in the dirt and mud of another country.

In loving memory

Twice a week, Preston goes to the children's hospital with our friend Rodrigo to pray specifically for children with cancer. I went with them once on August 19th.

It took us a long time to get in. The part of the hospital we wanted to get to was guarded. To get in, we needed to walk up to guards, explain what we were doing, get interrogated about our business. There was a very good chance that we could've gotten turned away. But after a while, they had us sign in on a clipboard and allowed us access. Rodrigo knew his way around--he led us through a garden, down hallways, twists and turns. Eventually we made it to a specific ward, and found ourselves in a green hallway. We began knocking on doors, asking to pray for the children and their family members. It was a little difficult for me because yet again, the language barrier rendered me unable to understand everything that was being said. Preston interpreted for me the best he could in a whisper.


The first room we went into was very dark and very hot. There were four beds, all of them occupied with a sick child. We went to all of them to talk and pray, and I took pictures of everyone--the sweet little girl, the older girl who had no hair, the tired-looking boy who smiled big for the camera, the small child who slept the entire time. The next room was smaller with only two beds. One of the boys there had the most swollen, largest belly I'd ever seen on a child. Interpreting his family's words, Preston told me that everything had already been done on him and there was nothing else to do but wait.


Strangely, I felt very sleepy the entire time. I wanted to wake myself up to really concentrate on what was happening, but I just felt so tired. It was very odd. I'd had a good night's sleep and everything. Preston felt the same way--he figured it was the heat in the hospital. I think it was that and the fact that everything felt wan and dead.


I felt so tired that I nearly groaned when Rodrigo beckoned us into one last room. He let me go ahead to take a picture, and I squeezed into the small, barely lit room. I found myself looking at someone with only one leg. Their hair was so short that I had to ask if it was a boy or a girl. It was a girl. I angled myself the best I could, and took a picture of her stretched out on her bed. Rodrigo said "Take a picture of her face," and so I did that as well. I leaned over and showed the girl her picture, and she gave me a quiet little smile. Then we left the hospital.

I'm going to cut myself off here to post a link to the Kolbs' blog about this topic... read (it's pretty short) and watch the video.

http://bigpicturemissions.wordpress.com/2011/09/19/la-moscota-childrens-hospital-nicaragua/

See the girl, Scarleth Altamirrano at the end of the video? That's the same girl at the beginning with only one leg, and yes, those are my pictures of her. She died about two weeks ago.

Last week Carrie was sitting at the table and I was doing dishes when Preston came home from the hospital. He flopped heavily into a chair, telling us that one of the girls Rodrigo had often visited had died. He and Preston had asked to visit her, but a nurse said "Oh, you didn't know? She passed away last week." They hadn't known at all, but it wasn't very surprising. She had cancer in her leg, and the doctors decided to amputate it before it could spread any further. So they went ahead and amputated her right leg... only to discover that they were too late and cancer had already spread to her lungs. She lost her leg for nothing, and she was only twelve or thirteen.

I washed the dishes, listening to Preston talk when it suddenly hit me that this girl only had one leg. I ran to get my camera, went through it until I found my hospital photos, and showed the picture of the one-legged girl's face to Preston. He looked at it and said "Yeah, that's her."

The huge sense of loss began to really sink in. Her story was sad enough, but it suddenly took on a much heavier meaning to me because I had seen her just weeks before she died. I had been in her room, taken pictures, spoken to her, showed her the picture of herself. Carrie and Preston had used my pictures of her in their video because there were no other pictures of her.

I'm slowly realizing everything as I'm typing it down. Honestly, this entire post is like an epiphany that I never knew I had in my heart until my fingers began hitting the keyboard.

And you know what, I don't know how to end this post. I've been sitting here staring at the screen for several minutes, and I'm completely lost. How do you end something like this?

Might as well end it the way it started.

                                                              In loving memory

How many more strange things will I see before leaving?

Yep, this is a continuation of that wonderful list consisting of bizarre, wacky, disgusting things seen around these parts. Does it seem like I relish talking about these grotesque topics?

Because I do.

We get a TV channel from Miami, Florida. We like to watch it because it's one of the few channels in English, but I personally enjoy it because of this:

FREAKIN' YES. It's a weatherman... in a Hawaiian shirt... with a parrot hand puppet... in a smaller Hawaiian shirt. Is that not the greatest thing ever? He's got to be the ballsiest weatherman alive! And of course he makes the parrot talk in a high-pitched voice, why wouldn't he? He's not even close to being a professional ventriloquist, but dang it all, he tries. If the man taking a nap in a hammock underneath an 18-wheeler is named Awesome, than this must be his twin brother Beawesome. (Origin: Beyond Awesome merging into one word. Source: the movie Bolt.)

A few days ago on Independence Day, we went to Catarina with Eugenio (La Vina pastor and good friend) and his family. It's beautiful there--scenic, breezy, great view of the lake, colorful. It's a nice little place, I'd have to say I like it better than Granada because it's not as busy and there's a lot less tourists. In fact, the only reason Catarina had people there that day was because it was a holiday. Eugenio's wife, Ana Patricia, says that on normal days hardly anyone is there. It's a great place that I would love to visit again sometime in my lifetime or maybe in another if I'm resurrected as a gecko or one of the disgusting cockroaches that like to hang out in my room.

But well, there is a catch. After all, it's showing up in this post, is it not?

We were walking along the path in the hills, following Eugenio as he led us towards more scenic sitting areas. I might as well mention that there were a lot of couples there, and that they were rather... um... passionate about each other. That was pretty uncomfortable. But hey, there's always the lake and the trees to look at, right?

So I'm walking along, thinking my own thoughts and glancing around myself at the scenery when my peripheral vision suddenly warns, "Mind your head." So I duck, step to the side, and take a good hard look at what almost hit my forehead.

It was a frog. A dead, rotting frog, dangling from a tree branch on a string by one of its legs. What I couldn't figure out was who would put it there, WHY would they put it there, how would they reach the tree branch with the string, why did they choose a frog, why wouldn't they be courteous enough to not put it in the middle of the walkway... The only reason I didn't take a picture was not because there was loads of people around or because I had more dignity--no, I only didn't take a picture because I was in a hurry to catch up with the others and I assumed we would see it again on the way back. Of course, we didn't because Eugenio led us a different way back to our cars.

But yeah, that was just--that was really, uh, well... look, I'm having a hard time finding a word strong enough for that. So I'm just moving on.

Not too long after that frog incident, we reached an fenced area on the edge of the mountain. Some parts of the fence were broken, and Eugenio was very fearful that one of the Kolb kids would be dumb enough to approach the open area and accidentally fall down the side of the mountain. (I wouldn't have minded.) While he was preoccupied with watching the kids, his daughter Ana Marcela marched over to the edge of the mountain and stepped onto a rock to elevate herself. Spreading her arms wide, she began to sing the Titanic theme song: "Every night in my dreams--" and was suddenly cut off by her father, who panicked wildly and told her to get off the rock and away from the edge. I suppose I'd needed a good laugh that day, because that silly little incident had me screaming with laughter. I'm not exaggerating, I stumbled over to the side of the path, clutching my stomach from laughing so hard. Everyone was staring at me, it wasn't even all that hilarious, and I couldn't even get the words out when Carrie asked what was so funny, but I didn't care.

Preston and I were in the car once (it seems like all my strange sightings start out like this), going to someplace that I can't remember and thus is not important. We were sitting there quietly, doing our own things, and then... was that... no.... it couldn't be, right? Holy crap, it totally was... it was a guy on a motorcycle with a tire around his waist!

Being in Nicaragua has rendered me out of practice in the art of watching America's Funniest Home Videos, so I didn't immediately assume that the guy had tried to be young and carefree by attempting to ride a tire swing, got stuck, and was now riding in the path of humiliation on the way to the hospital to get pried free. Pity, it would've made a great story. But still, a lot of explanations can arise, so use your imaginations to assume what you want about this tire and his man. I figure anything we imagine is a lot more interesting than the actual story, anyways.

This list isn't near long enough, but I'm starting to get tired of writing so I'm going to stop here. To be continued... eventually!

What do I name a post like this?

My time in Nicaragua is coming to an end. Exactly a week from now, I will have already stepped off the airplane, embraced Texas, and will probably be asleep in bed with my cat. The time here seemed to go past so slow, and yet I realize now that it went by faster than anyone had expected.

It's been a difficult trip. Being in Nicaragua itself was uncomfortable as compared to America, but that wasn't the entire battle. Most of the obstacles lay in being the first person to live with Preston and Carrie. In all honesty, I really believe that any other person who decides to also briefly live here with the Kolbs will have an easier time than I did. But while it's been the most difficult experience, it's also been the most wonderful.

Want to know why?

• Figuring out Nicaragua at the same time as Preston and Carrie. It was hard because we were all in the dark together. We stuck close together for a long time, and the first several weeks we had nothing  to do, which was frustrating and caused a lot of problems in the house. Often P & C expressed their wish that they could tell me about places to go and people to see, but none of us just had any idea. It was pretty difficult to not know what to do and who to talk to. Three months later, we've made friends and have an insanely busy schedule from people constantly inviting us to events. All of us are wiser about Nicaragua and are able to advise future visitors about it, but it really did suck to be the tester. The nice thing, though, is that now I'll seem like a wise elder figure who one comes to for advice about my own experiences. Plus bragging rights for originating the whole idea of living in Nicaragua with the Kolbs. Do I sound like I'm proud of that to you? Because I am. Sorry, guys.

•  Trying to get the internet. Oh sweet Jesus, that was agonizing. It took us almost a month to get our internet modem because the stupid company basically did. Not. Care. About. Us. We often walked to the internet cafe by our house, but that was crap because we could only go online for a half hour. Have you ever been timed on your internet browsing? It's a frantic experience, especially when you have a lot of mail from concerned people back home. There's hardly any time to really respond to all of them. Then, when we finally got our modem, it didn't work. We called for someone to come and fix it. No one ever came.

• The euphoric joy of finally getting the internet. We went to Granada one day, and when we came home the internet was mysteriously working. Who knows why? We didn't question it--just gleefully got online to spread the good news and immediately called our parents. We spent hours on the computer that day and the next, just catching up with everyone.

•  The Costa Rica mission trip. That was a huge part of my Nicaragua experience because it was the first time I started making friends with people around my own age. I found out about the trip the day before they had to buy the bus tickets. God was definitely wanting me to go because I asked to join at the very last minute and they said yes. Two days later I found myself leaving a foreign country for a 5 day trip to another foreign country, surrounded by Nicaraguan youth I didn't know, who were speaking a language I barely knew. The entire trip, I'm afraid I wasn't quite myself because I was extremely frustrated at hardly being able to communicate with anyone. Very often I felt bored, isolated, in the dark. Many times I wondered what kind of an idiot I was, going on this trip in the first place. But after expressing my frustration, I discovered that everyone was very sympathetic and was eager to practice their English with me. The Costa Rica trip turned out to be a great (and humbling) experience.

•  New friends from Costa Rica/Nicaragua + Soccer + Freezing cold rain + Slippery grass = AWESOME. Soccer in the rain is definitely one of my favorite memories. Do you know how great it is to see nimble, athletic people who are totally into the game try to make a fantastic kick, only to start sliding and skidding and completely miss and fall down? It's amazing, my friends. Simply amazing. I burned a lot of calories from laughing that afternoon. (I was goalie, so while I didn't run around enough to fall, I got just as bruised as everyone else from getting kicked at. Win some, lose some.)

• Meeting a bunch of people in general was great. We've gotten to know a lot of people from church, the neighbors, and other random people met in various ways. They are happy people and genuinely want to get to know us... well, except for the few people that try to spend time with us just to ask for money. Not cool. But most people are very friendly and likable and will add you on Facebook without even thinking. I've made a bunch of great friends here who I will sorely miss.

•  Getting used to the culture without warning wasn't all that pleasant. Learning to throw away toilet paper, trying not to die in the insane traffic, trying to be late to everything just like everyone else, and more... all of this we hadn't known about until actually arriving in Nicaragua. Who could've warned us that everyone jaywalks and that it's legal to pee on walls? Figuring everything out was confusing, but you gotta do what you gotta do to live here. Every time P & C and I see a jaywalker or a motorcycle overflowing with people or a bus cutting us off or a woman walking around without a bra, etc. etc., we throw back our heads and scream "CULTURAL!"

•  Somehow, the blend of Taiwanese/Irish/Scottish/German/Spanish/white that created the wonderful creature named Ashley Petty that's speaking to you right now also creates the illusion that I'm a native Nicaraguan. That's right--for whatever reason, I just so happen to look like I actually live here. How the heck did that work out? Beats me. But it was great, because for once in my life no one was asking me "What are you?" They just looked at me and decided that I blended in, which I LOVED. Seriously, that's never happened to me before! Do you KNOW how much I stick out in America?? It was wonderful because I got all the good prices (if people think you're a gringo, they charge higher prices), but it was also bad because people would start nonchalantly talking to me in Spanish. And then I would say "Um... mi espanol es muy malo." They'd look at me strangely, and I would quickly add "Muy malo," followed by hastily fleeing the vicinity the first chance I'd get.

• All the adventures. Bodysurfing at the beach, visiting Granada, Masaya, and different areas, going to Costa Rica, soccer in the rain, drinking one Smirnoff and getting insanely dizzy, climbing volcanoes, attending musclemen competitions, talking ourselves out of police tickets... ah, these aren't even half of the adventures I've had in the two-and-a-half months I've been here.

• As I've mentioned before: all the sights. So many hilarious, gross, just plain bizarre sights. And yet... I've neglected to mention Nicaragua's beauty. Nicaragua is a colorful, dirty, unique, frustrating, calm, sensible and yet not sensible, beautiful country. I say "beautiful" because I just absolutely love how green it is. Being from Texas where everything brown grows (I'm exaggerating... but not by much), I really appreciate the natural beauty of trees and plants and flowers. And I love how simply people live here. It's not as complicated as life in America with all of our technology and laws and rules... and yet it's more complicated for me because of the lack thereof.

• Gaining a place in the Kolb household. Seriously. While I've spent over half my trip irritated with the Kolb kids, their home really did become mine as well. If I spent a few days away from the house, I began to think longingly of my "bed"--an air mattress with two sheets, a mosquito net and a fan shoved inside so I can actually feel it--and Carrie and Preston's American sarcasm. I've got a few places in my list of things to call home: my dad's house, my mom's house, my church... and the Kolbs' house in Nicaragua has definitely added itself to the list. Heck, I regard Nicaragua to be one of my homes. I guess that tends to happen when your skin color and appearance blend into a place you're living for an extended time.

There's a lot of other things I can't think of at the moment, but I'm pretty sure I've gotten the big ones out of my system and onto this screen.While I'm extremely excited to go home to Texas and see my loved ones, I'm also melancholic about leaving this country I've grown to love and all my friends I've made here. I don't know when I will next get the opportunity to visit again, but I promise that I will go back and forth from Texas and Nicaragua with arms wide open.

Oh, Jed.

There are no words for Jed's current Facebook status.

" So this is how my morning went... I was making my way around the bed, smoothing the sheets, humming nonchalantly to myself when all of a sudden "SCORPIAN! THERE´S A SCORPIAN IN MY BED! EEEEK!! LIZZIE! BRING THE SHOTGUN & SHOOT ANYTHING THAT MOVES! (It was MASSIVE!) SHOOT IT LIZZIE, SHOOOOT IIIIIT!!!!!!!!!!!!" (Said like the man from Jurassic Park, the original, when the first dino goes all jurassic on ´em... "

 This trails off and starts again on a comment--

" So anyway, Peggy comes in & gives a tap-tap on the bot-bot and the little creature goes instantly to scorpian Heaven - what a place that must be... Hot & Stingy) And then... Well where was I... Oh yes, on to dusting my Royal Doultons. The ones with hand-painted periwinkles... "

Again. No words... just pure enjoyment.

Stop undressing me with your eyes

As hinted at in my previous post, one thing I cannot STAND is being stared at by people who have no business doing so. I mean, I don't mind people-watchers and observers... I myself am one. But there's a difference between observing and staring. While whistling. And making smoochy noises.

Realization about cultural staring here dawned on me within days of coming to Nicaragua. I would be walking with a group through a heavily crowded area and would glance up to see several people staring at us simultaneously. Um, creepy. But easy enough to shrug off and ignore if you're part of a group.

I'm a big fan of taking walks around the neighborhood for the exercise, to observe life, to explore, to pray, and to just get out of the house when I'm restless. I usually go at night because it's cooler, (Yes Mom, I know I promised you that I wouldn't walk by myself...but I have been. I'll begin my profuse apologizing as soon as I get home) and I've not had any problems with anyone trying to assault me or anything. I've been trusting that God will protect me, He always has. I'm scarcely ever worried while walking, but I am extremely wary just in case.

I've made the mistake of walking around while looking nice...in a skirt, for instance. It was just what I happened to be wearing those days, and I never thought twice about it. Our neighborhood has security, lots of people are out walking by themselves as well, it's not yet the time of night when the rapists come out, what could possibly go wrong?

I started rethinking that when the whistling began. Ugh. The nice thing about being whistled at in the evening is that you can make incredibly dirty faces at the whistlers and they'll never know. And then they start the smoochy noises. What the heck am I, an animal? That's the same kissy noises I make when beckoning my trusty fat cat Poochmutt to my side. There's plenty of hoochies in stripper clothes walking around the vicinity--please go bother them instead, I'm sure you'll make them feel wanted or something.

However, I don't want to be negative about all the males here--some guys really are nice. I've made a lot of good friends here who are male. If they're nice, they will just say "Buenas noches." I don't mind that, I'll smile and say it back politely and continue on my way.

Since I've graduated from high school and am now qualified as a semi-intelligent human being, I've made my own rule to look comparatively like crap on my walks. Meaning t-shirts and old gym shorts (which are more comfortable anyways). Often glasses are worn to help complete the crappy walking outfit, and thus I pull on shoes and march out the gate with dignity and supreme satisfaction.

I remember complaining about this problem a few weeks ago to Preston and my friend Ana Marcela when we were all in the car together. Ana Marcela had asked if our neighborhood was dangerous (it's the same level of dangerous as your suburban American neighborhood... I'm not sure why she asked since she lives about two minutes from us) and Preston and I had immediately launched into the chorus of "Oh yeah, it's SO dangerous! We always have to stay inside our house because people get raped and murdered here everyday... no, not really," saying this last part hastily when Ana Marcela's face turned a strange color.

Side note: We aren't trying to minimize those problems because every country has those kinds of horrible places, but people just get way too caught up in assuming that the area we live in is a terrible, dangerous community when really any robber that tried to break into the Kolbs' house would be screwed over, seeing as we have hardly anything of value to take anyways. Those people down the street have a nice TV in their living room, go rob them instead and could you please lock the door on your way out, Mr. Robber?

Anyways. I told Ana Marcela that the only problem I'd experienced was with people staring and whistling and making kissy noises, even if I wasn't even dressed all that nice. Her response? "Yeah, BECAUSE YOU'RE HOT!"

I rolled my eyes, exasperated. "Well, I always walk at night, so how could anyone see my face??"

Silence. Something began to dawn on me. "Wait..."

Preston finished that thought for me. "What makes you think they're looking at your face?"

Ah, I can be so naive sometimes.

So that made me even more determined to take my walks while not dressed nice. But here's the frustrating thing... yesterday I walked with a t-shirt and jeans, and I still got whistled at. And this afternoon I had on gym shorts for a walk just outside the neighborhood, and it was even worse! Several guys said "Adios" simultaneously as I passed. Then a man who was probably in his 30's was doing smoochy lips at me and I didn't even attempt to hide the dirty look crossing over my face. I'm not even going to describe the rest of my walk except to say I'd never been happier to step onto the Kolbs' porch and lock the gate behind me.

While I'm not trying to alarm anyone (although I'm sure I will regardless), I would just like to point this out as being one of my biggest problems, but God has taken care of me from harm and I know He will continue to do so, and no, parents, I swear I won't do anything stupid on purpose. I'm thinking of America a little more fondly now, since there's a majority of people who won't actually say anything about the fact that they're undressing you with their eyes.

So this post is dedicated to Jessica Knox and any other girls I know who might want to visit Nicaragua from now on. Don't be a hoochie, and while most likely nothing will happen to you, you WILL be uncomfortable.

As for Mattias and any other guys who will visit... well, I sure hope that this problem doesn't pertain to you.

"Hide yo kids, hide yo wife..."

Things I miss, things I'll miss

I've been having problems all summer with my room leaking whenever it rains really hard. Recently after a particular nighttime thunderstorm in which I spent hours awake because of my leaking room, I wrote down my favorite parts about being in America and being in Nicaragua. Since I have nothing else to really blog about, I decided to go ahead and post my lists.

Things I Miss

• privacy
• my own bathroom and throne
• a bedroom without a window connecting to the kids room
• getting dressed without worrying about being seen
• warm water
• the occasional bath
• no leaky rooms
• shelves and drawers to put my stuff in
• my bed
• my books
• more food choices
• eating healthier
• no kids in the house
• no kids constantly asking questions
• peace and quiet
• blasting my music into the quiet
• not being stared at by kids/people
• places to escape the bugs
• not having to constantly mop and sweep
• the power staying on consistently
• no language barriers
• punctuality 
• people not coming over to your house unannounced
• driving my car
• America's Funniest Home Videos and The Office
• Dad's house
• Mom's house
• Poochmutt, my fat paranoid cat
• the Vineyard Church of Conroe
• my loved ones... friends and family

Things I'll Miss

• the rain
• the green trees and plants
• the yummy food... especially the gelato
• Smirnoff and the drinking age being 18
• laidback Nicaragua time
• the utter satisfaction of fighting and killing a cockroach
• watching a lot of Seinfeld
• soothing routine of doing my laundry outside
• cheap prices
• having ten convenience stores in my neighborhood to walk to
• the markets and unique, colorful products
• all the colors in general, especially on the houses
• riding in a car that says "Yo Amor Nicaragua" and "Texas"
• the fast driving
• barely any laws
• having lots of free time
• walks around the neighborhood
• my looks blending in
• my chances to learn more Spanish
• crazy adventures and stories
• the funny sights
• watching the fire juggler
• the wonderful places to go
• La Vina
• my new friends
• the Kolbs

The joys of Cracked.com

I loved Cracked.com. It's "America's Only Humor Site Since 1958" (God knows if it's true). It's full of hilarious and often disgusting articles and lists and facts. There's a lot of inappropriate jokes and enough swearing to make things interesting. This in itself isn't exactly what attracts me to the website (although admittedly it keeps your attention). What I love about this website is that it's full of facts. Real facts. Like, you can actually learn a lot from this website. They talk about things that you would never think of, but once you read it you start thinking "Dude, this is SO TRUE! Why has no one mentioned it before?"

For example, some articles I've recently read: The 5 Stupidest Ways Movies Deal With Foreign Languages...  The 5 Creepiest Ways Animals Have Mastered Mind Control (I don't usually wince while reading, but boy, did I wince)... 6 Images of Kids Too Insane To Be Real (That Totally Are) (I LOVED that one)... 5 Questions You Need To Ask (To Avoid Ruining Your Life)... 6 Beloved Characters That Had Undiagnosed Mental Illnesses... so on and so forth. Hilarious, interesting facts that they don't teach you in school. What makes it funnier to me is that some of what they write is so crazy that I often wonder if it's all lies they made up to see how many people believe them. Yet they say these crazy things with so much confidence that it makes you hesitate.

So today I was on Cracked.com. I don't get on everyday, probably about several times a week when I, you know, actually have internet access and actually remember the website is there in the first place. Today just happened to be one of the days of the week when I remembered the website was there while having internet access. So I'm on there, reading any article that strikes my fancy. An article called 8 Tiny Things That Stopped Suicides caught my eye, and I clicked on it.

I loved loved loved the article. And the funny thing is, I'm usually not an emotional person when it comes to reading. I mean, I laugh out loud a lot when reading Cracked articles or quotes or illegally downloaded books (only joking) or something I find amusing, but by "emotional" I mean that things I read don't usually piss me off, bring tears to my eyes, or put heaviness in my soul. That's just how I am. Only a few books have profoundly affected me, and this article is now part of that small list. By the time I'd finished reading it, I was wondering "What is this salty discharge?" before realizing that I was on the verge of tears.

I've already posted it on Facebook, but it affected me so much that I just had to blog about it as well.Who knew that "America's only humor site" could actually be... sentimental?

And... well, I'll just copy the link in here and let you read it for yourselves.

http://www.cracked.com/blog/8-tiny-things-that-stopped-suicides/

Okay, I lied.... Jed now gets his own post

For those of you who may not know or remember, I mentioned Jed in my last post as the hilarious Australian missionary friend we have here in Nicaragua. I had promised myself and everyone else that I would leave him be, but I just can't anymore after I happened to read Jed's status on Facebook this morning.

I'm going to shut up and let you read it for yourselves.

"Horrifying ordeal at the hair dressers tonight! I am almost too shaken up to share... If you have a fragile tum tums then DO NOT read on... So I enter the salon, and they say they´ll be a few minutes. Of course they were more like half an hour... So then I get my hair washed, which nearly sends me over EVERY time... Who doesn´t like a scalp massage? It´s heaven! Anyway, so then they cut my hair. Wow, nothing special... But then she rants on about MY EARS!"

 A little confusing, right? I didn't fully understand until realizing that Jed must've run out of letter space in the status. When I started reading the comments to that status, of course--Jed was continuing his story as a comment.

"It´s worse when it´s not in your native tongue, cause you´re like "did she say what I think she just said?" And yes, she starts probing my ears with this machine - EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK I´m too young to have problems like that. Those problems are SPECIFICALLY reserved for my father, and all of his elderly friends. It gets worse. Before I had gotten over the pain I was feeling in my heart, she THREW me backwards and rammed the thing up my nose... Hooooough-KAAAAAAAAAY now!!! I mean, whatever the case... NO ONE, I REPEAT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE wants a utensil that has clearly been rammed up every bloke´s nose, rammed up theirs... The inhuMANity!!! I was sooooooo embarreshed! I tried to look around to see if others were watching on, it´s hard with something rammed up your nose, but to my horror, because of my skewed face, bulging nostril and plastically forced smile, she´d taken out her scissors and was TRIMMING MY EYEBROWS!!! I threw the woman aside, threw money on the counter, and stormed out of that salon, though I couldn´t help myself, all trimmed and gorgeous, just had to do a wee little skip..."


I'm just not going to say anything else besides the fact that I read all of this ten minutes ago and I'm still laughing about it. 


While this is the shortest post I've written, it makes me happy that all I had to do for once was copy and paste. Ahhh, what a pal.

Something special for Jules... Pt. 2

It's 1:15 in the morning and I'm tired to death but can't sleep. No, it's not a case of insomnia. Usually I lie there and imagine and think until I fall asleep, and tonight's thinking topic happened to be Part Two of my list of strange sights. Unfortunately my brain enjoyed it far, far too much to go to sleep, so I rolled out of bed (sorry--rolled out of my air mattress covered by a mosquito net) and sat down to write this post. Hopefully writing this will bring me some sense of closure and I can sleep after this. If not, I can always sleep during the day and avoid the kids.

Speaking of the kids, you would not believe how many times I've seen them in their underwear or stark naked. It's not that big of a deal since they're young, but it's going to become a big deal soon if they don't start warning me first. They just take off their clothes before/after their showers and casually walk around naked as if they're the leaders of a nudist community. 'Course, it might just be easier to send them to one since they're constantly ripping, tearing, and staining their clothes. A nudist community would be a welcome relief since we wouldn't have to waste so much time hopelessly washing their clothes over and over again.

On a similar note, it's worth mentioning that it's perfectly legal to pee on public walls here. Out by the street where an unlimited amount of people can see you. Luckily the women seem to have some restraint--we've only seen men public peeing.

I'm happy to report that Raymond and Joe are now somewhat at ease about peeing on the walls if there's nowhere else to go. Joe's first attempt was a disaster... we were just pulling out of a gas station when he began to whine about how much he needed to pee. Everyone was mad at him because he hadn't mentioned it before... no, he decided to make things harder and waited to say something until he had to pee to the point of pain.

We didn't want him to use the gas station bathroom, so we pulled over to a wall and tossed him outside to do his business.

Only he never did it. All he did was stand there facing the wall with his pants unzipped, bawling at the top of his lungs. For several minutes. We all yelled at him to hurry up and pee, but he was too busy crying to do it. REALLY?? There have been maybe three times in my life where I also was in pain from trying not to pee my pants, and let me tell you that I would've welcomed any kind of wall at those moments. Even if it's more awkward and much less dignified for girls.

Joe definitely had no dignity at that moment. We finally let him back in the car, still in pain, still crying, holding his stuff for dear life, and Carrie and Preston yelled at him all the way home. He said he hadn't gone because he was scared it was illegal, and Carrie said--Well, I won't repeat what she said, but she told him that it was definitely not illegal here and that a bunch of other people marked the walls without even thinking.

However, we finally have the boys trained to where they can pee on a wall with dignity if there is no bathroom around. Also, we have dubbed that particular area of Joe's first attempt as "The Other Wailing Wall". I find it fascinating that Joe has no problem leaving the bathroom door wide open while he pees but cringes at the thought of merely unzipping his pants for a quick leak in public.

One day I was talking to my friend Mattias, who is very interested in visiting Nicaragua as well. While telling him as many details of the country as I could think of, I suddenly recalled this incident and thought "Well, he might as well know now" and went ahead and told him the gruesome details. I didn't realize how big of an impact this story made on him until days later on Mattias's birthday. Carrie got on Facebook and sent him a "happy birthday" post on his profile. Mattias wrote back, "Thanks! Tell Joe congrats for peeing on a wall for the first time."

I've already mentioned on Facebook about seeing this particular sight, but some of you may not know this and it's wayyyy too good to not mention again and again. One day after church, we were driving around to find a place to eat lunch. I was staring out the window when... suddenly... could it be? No, it was too ridiculous to be true... but yet, there it was before my very eyes. I began to howl with laughter.

For there, my friends... was a baby stroller on the roof of a house.

I kid you not. And the roof was made of tin, so it's not like it was even all that safe up there. I just hope the brakes were on that thing, because what if it rolled forward on a windy day...? Also, how the heck do you get it up on the roof? And most importantly.... why?

I should also mention the stroller was empty. No baby inside. Had there been, it would've made me laugh even harder, but that might be my own sick personality.

Everyone knows the classic "Why did the chicken cross the road?" joke. The other day, I had the perfect excuse to ask that... with legitimate reason. Preston was driving and I was riding in the passenger seat when a random chicken decided to walk across the road. Preston didn't even slow down. But the chicken must have calculated the velocity of the car in its head, because it just crossed the road real casually.

Seriously, why did the chicken cross the road? Do Nicaragua chickens have different reasons than American chickens? Are they more suicidal? Do Nicaragua chickens have higher death rates? Beats me.

I was not around for this next strange sight, but holy crap I wish I was. Preston was riding in the car once with Jed, our Australian missionary friend who probably deserves a "Strange" post all to his own, but for now I'll leave him be. Jed's hilarious and he's got that awesome accent that I could sit and listen to forever.... and according to Preston, is a scary driver. I've yet to be in the car with Jed but am not sure if I should pray for that day to never come, or for it to come quickly out of curiosity. Anyways, Jed's a scary driver and he can get away with it because he's got an Australian license. Cops pull him over frequently, look at his license expecting to see an American driver's license (which they're used to dealing with). Imagine their shock when they see an Australian license... which they have no idea what to do with. You have no idea how badly this makes me wish I had a license from... I don't know... Madagascar or Africa or somewhere else that will really unsettle the Nicaragua police.

So Preston is in the car with him one day. It's raining heavily outside. The traffic is somewhat worse than usual, but is still going forward pretty fast. They're going along, minding their own business when suddenly a guy in a wheelchair appears to be inflicted with a case of car-envy and pulls into the traffic with his wheelchair. Seriously. He just goes out there, pumping his arms as fast as he can to keep up with the traffic flying all around him. What made things even better was that he was in the lane just ahead of Jed's car.

Jed decides to do the sensible thing...have fun and speed up. And up. And up. Come on, don't be so shocked; all you people would've done it in your secret hearts.

Preston is on the verge of fearing for the man's life by this point. Jed is now dangerously close to the wheelchair--and still flooring it. Suddenly, mercifully, he brakes just in time to avoid hitting the back of the wheelchair. The man seems to finally be realizing Hey, maybe this was an insanely stupid idea to be in the middle of the highway with a wheelchair, and begins to veer off the road. Unfortunately for him, Jed's car rams into a pothole that's FILLED with rainwater, and the water splashes all over the wheelchair guy, drenching him. He turns and screams "Asshole!" (but, you know, in Spanish... sorry for not censoring it but I'm trying to be as historically accurate as possible) at the car.

Here's the reason why Jed deserves his own "Strange" post. Most of us would cringe if we accidentally sprayed someone with water. We would wince, apologize inwardly, maybe smirk a bit to ourselves (I would be guilty of the latter).

Jed, however, beams and waves, yelling back happily "Sorry!" in his Australian accent, and drives away with Preston probably breathing heavily in the passenger seat.

I have a new joke: "Why did the man in the wheelchair pull out into the road?" Somehow, I don't think this will become quite as big of a hit as the chicken joke.

Something special for Jules...

This post is solely dedicated to all the strange things I've seen and heard of here in Nicaragua. I already have the feeling that this will either be people's favorite post, their least favorite, or both at the same time. Personally, I'm going to enjoy it way more than is morally acceptable.

I started seeing strange things within hours of landing in Managua. The Crafts, Brian Fox and I (all from the Conroe Vineyard) crammed ourselves into Eugenio's (pastor of one of the two Managua La Viñas) truck and took a tour of the city. Eugenio's driving was the first experience the Crafts and I had of the roads here, and holy crap it terrified us. Eugenio's a pretty scary driver even by Nicaragua standards. I never heard much of the tour he was giving us--I was too busy praying for our lives, wondering who would clean my remains off the window I was next to after I surely smashed into it. It was only a matter of time.


Suddenly I saw a motorcycle on the lane next to us. Which isn't unusual at all... there are lots of motorcyclists in Managua because they all want to get in between the cars when there's traffic or red lights. 


What was odd was that two people were sitting on this motorcycle with a windshield wrapped in a package in between them. They were going full-speed down the road. The guy in the back had his arms spread, holding on to the package for dear life as the wind threatened to tear it from his grip. The guy in the front was driving the motorcycle with one hand with one arm reaching back, clinging to the windshield the best he could. 


Motorcycles are great places to look if you need a quick laugh. I won't describe to you how many times I've seen entire families crammed onto a motorcycle together... such as four little girls riding with their daddy during a rainstorm, mothers holding infants while the fathers drive with one hand and text with the other, people attempting to reach their phone in their pants pocket while driving at breakneck speed down the road... yes, I've grown to love looking around at the motorcycles.

On the way to the Costa Rica trip, we sat around on a bus at the Costa Rica border for an hour for no reason whatsoever. They had us wait there, then sent a guy to come over and tell us "Yeah just kidding, you have to get your baggage and get on another bus. We just wasted an hour of your lives, and can't do anything about it. We screwed you over SO BAD." The guy spoke Spanish so I didn't understand what he was saying, but I'm pretty sure it was similar to that anyways.


One good thing came out of sitting there not moving for an hour. When I lifted the window curtain to look outside, I saw something that suddenly made my day. There were a lot of 18-wheelers around... but one guy whose first name I assume is Awesome had stretched a hammock underneath one of the 18-wheelers and was just lounging around in it casually.


This man named Awesome was pure genius. There he is in the heat of the day, just chillin' and swingin' on a hammock underneath a huge vehicle that provided great shade. How come no one else has done it? I know some people have problems with the fact that the 18-wheelers are... you know... not exactly stationary objects, but still. I applaud the man named Awesome, and I applaud him proudly.

Carrie's favorite moment was when we went to the beach a few weeks ago. We were having a lot of fun bodysurfing into the waves, tumbling in the water and popping up again to swim out and do it all over again. Regretfully, this would turn out to not be such a carefree day of our lives. A young girl and an older woman came out to the water near us and Carrie and I happened to look over. Then we saw... the older woman had on shorts and a white shirt... but nothing underneath the white shirt. And the white shirt was wet. 

You know how every once in a while you'll see something that you really really don't want to look at, but you can't get the image of it out of your head? We experienced that to the extreme. I actually experienced it to the extreme twice because when I went to rinse myself off at the sink, the old lady was there. She waited as I scooped up water with a cup and poured it over myself to get off some of the salt water. I handed the cup to her and she immediately went ahead and poured the water all over her white shirt that had formerly dried in the wind. I didn't exactly appreciate her doing that especially since I was drying myself with a towel as fast as I could to get away from here. Unfortunately, it just wasn't fast enough.


Carrie absolutely loves to bring up that old lady in random conversations. Every time, I wince and change the subject as fast as I can.


One day we were taking a nice scenic drive. We weren't going anywhere in particular, just driving outside the city enjoying the sights. On the way back, we saw something smoking on the side of the road. As we drew near, I could feel my eyebrows approach my hairline while Carrie made a noise of revulsion. We couldn't tell if it was a horse or a cow because someone had burned it almost beyond recognition. It was charred, black, and still smoking. I'm hoping the animal was dead before being set on fire.


But my favorite moment by far was last Wednesday, on the way to the church to be picked up for the Costa Rica trip. It was about 5:45 a.m. and I was still incredibly groggy from waking up early. I'm not much of a talker in the early morning. Or at least, I wasn't much of a talker until I glanced across the road at a nearby truck. It took me a few seconds to realize what I was looking at.


The truck was full of rotting cow heads. With the eyes still in it. It was a huge, bloody mess where a couple of workers in the back were standing and stepping over, to make sure none of the precious heads fell off I suppose. 


It was so disgusting, but I found that for some reason I couldn't look away. Now a week later, I still have the image burned in my mind.

I'm sure more strange and disturbing sights will appear soon. I might have to do a part 2 to this and who knows, hopefully even a part 3! Thanks for sticking with me this far.

Yes, Pt. 3

I'm currently suffering from more brain farts, but I'm going to go ahead and post again anyway. It's been over a day since coming back and yet I'm still so tired beyond belief. And sore. More on the soreness later.

Thursday morning, our first morning there--before the street ministry stuff--was the first of many times I was out of my mind with frustration. I still didn't know any of the youth that much, and as a result hadn't spoken a lot that morning. I felt like everyone was making fun of me, and finally I couldn't stand it anymore. I got up from the breakfast table and went outside to find Rodney and Cindy. I'd started crying pretty hard, which doesn't happen very often and which embarrassed me, but I was pretty desperate at that point. I sat down with them, asking for prayer and they laid their hands on me and prayed. They said a lot of encouraging things that I can't remember now, although I know they were so glad I'd come on the trip and God would be able to use me and that they thought I was brave. That made me feel a bit better, but as you know the depression and frustration sank in again later that morning during street ministry.
So the trip was basically filled with Spanish, working/pretending to work, Spanish, eating delicious food (holy crap the food was amazing... I had a food baby by the end of the trip), Spanish, taking breaks to read Run Baby Run (which is a FANTASTIC book), Spanish... you get the gist of it. There were quite a few meetings and conversations in which everyone but me seemed to find pretty enthralling. I admit that I have pride issues and so I didn't ask for interpretation help as much as I should've. I didn't like the idea of asking someone to give up their part in the conversation to interpret for me. I usually sat there and pretended like I understood what was being said, but honestly I got bored a lot. However, there were many times when someone said something in a hilarious tone of voice or with a funny facial expression and I would burst out laughing along with everyone else....which, um... helped, I guess.

One of the things I loved was the music. The Managua group is very musically inclined, and so there were a lot of great worship sessions inside and outside the house, planned and spontaneously. They played a lot of songs I already knew, so I sang along with them in English. At first I was wary about being the only English singer, but I got tired of not being able to worship with everyone else because of not knowing the Spanish words. After a while I figured "Screw it, I'm here to worship too and this is the only way I know how," and I sang my little American heart out.

I also figured out that I have the gift of praying in tongues... to people who don't know English. Well, that's close enough to having a spiritual gift. We had several ministry sessions, which was pretty great, but it was strange for me to pray out loud in English while knowing the person couldn't understand what I was saying. I know this because people have prayed for me in Spanish. Let me tell you this...I really appreciate the gesture but almost wish they wouldn't unless there's an interpreter. They're putting in time and energy to pray for me, but it's embarrassing to stand there and not be able to appreciate the words they're praying over me. Heck, they could be telling God to strike me down with a lightning bolt because they hate my guts and I would never know. Also, it's hard to tell when their prayer's over.

The few times I prayed for someone who understood English (yeah, all two of them) went great though. God gave me a word for our friend Tito, so I went ahead and told him during the Night of Worship we held at the church Saturday evening. Later I found out that I was one of several people who had told him the same thing that day, and what I'd said was a confirmation of what God wanted Tito to know. It's always a wonderful feeling, knowing that God's used you for something important in another person's life. What made it better for me was that I no longer felt useless.

We attended church on Sunday, getting there pretty early for the band to practice worship for the service. Needless to say, I was pretty bored...again. And for some reason I was pretty depressed again during the majority of church. I've been told to be watchful for spiritual attacks, and it was ironic to me that I was feeling the effects of these attacks in church, surrounded by people who loved God, but who I could also barely communicate with. So I was pretty quiet and withdrawn that morning, there were even times when I was on the verge of tears again from feeling so bad.

Thankfully, this time Abiud beckoned me over from my corner and interpreted Josue's (one of our leaders) message he was sharing with everyone. Some of it struck me as being almost funny because it went along with what I'd been thinking that morning...things like we often feel alone at times, we know God is with us but sometimes it doesn't feel like He's really WITH us. But He sometimes backs off like that to test our faith, to see how we react and if we depend on Him all the more for it.

Suddenly a few people stood up and walked to the front where Josue was.

"What's happening?" I asked Abiud.

"He's calling up people who have prayer requests," he replied.

I nodded seriously, got up, and sat in the front as well.

One of the youth girls was the first to pray for me. I did my best not to fidget as she sat with me, saying whatever it was she was saying that I couldn't understand. I could tell she really meant it though, because she reached over and placed a hand on my heart. It felt a lot easier to be in her presence after that, language barrier or not.

Julie came and sat with me after that, giving me a gigantic hug that I really needed. This time I cried because she spoke the exact words I needed to hear... things like God gave me foreign looks for a reason, to go to more places that "tall white gringos" like Julie could never go, and that I would be going to many more places. She told me many things that I knew God gave her because so many of what she said was personal. It sounds so trite and bland the way I'm writing it, but just now that it was a wonderful prayer that had me in tears the whole time.

I'm pretty sure I'm nearing the end of my Costa Rica blogs. Don't worry, I'm now starting to get more in the habit of getting on here and posting! More to come soon.

Costa Rica, baby... Pt. 2

Things looked up for me that Thursday when we left the city. I'd been on the verge of tears from not knowing Spanish, but finally the only person I knew from the youth--his name is Abiud, we'd met a few days before on Monday and he could understand English pretty well--stepped back, looked at me, and asked if I was alright. I explained to him that I was frustrated because I wanted to help out but couldn't because I didn't know any freakin' Spanish, and that it was hard to not know what the heck was going on.

"You don't need to know Spanish to help out," he said, mystified at why I would think such a thing. I gave him a dirty look.

"Look--having you here is a great honor to us. We get to practice our English now, and we never get to because we're always together. We're very glad to have you here."

Huh. I hadn't thought of it quite that way. We had walked several blocks to a bus and were now sitting inside, waiting for the rest of our group to emerge so we could go back to the house. Abiud continued to speak like this to me, and my heart began to feel lighter. We began to talk (in English) about music we liked and sports and different kinds of things on the way home. I didn't feel so left out anymore.

The guys were pretty easy to talk to since most of them could speak decent English. I got along with them very well. The girls were harder to communicate with because only one girl spoke alright English and there were many times when I wondered if they were making fun of me. It didn't help that four other girls and I were sharing a room and bathroom. I mentally rolled my eyes a lot because they took so long to get ready for the day/night, while it took mere minutes for me to be ready. So it took a little while for the girls and I to get to know each other better, but in the end it did happen.

We did a lot around the community. We painted a church member's house, and I went with the guys to put in concrete steps for the same lady. I was all fired up to work, but wound up standing around a lot and taking pictures. Every time I'd offer to do something, one of the guys who was loitering around would jump up and shout "NO! Let me do it." I'm pretty sure it would've been a great blow to their pride if a girl tried to do their work. The lady we were working for provided a pitcher of water and a cup for us to drink from. The guys thought it was absolutely hilarious to yell "WATER! WATER!" at me, thereby dubbing me the watergirl. Soon they took up a cry of "Ashley! Ashley!" and oftentimes would mix it up by shouting "SONIA!" It was our inside joke that I was "Sonia" because when we first came to the house, we had our own individual cups to drink from with a piece of tape that had our name on it. I'd looked in vain for my name but couldn't find it. Apparently a girl named Sonia was expected to come on the trip but didn't... while I wasn't expected to come and did. As a result, I wound up using the cup that said "Sonia". The entire five day trip, whenever someone yelled "ASHLEY" or "WATER" for fun, I'd reply by saying "SONIA" in an unnaturally high-pitched voice. It was hilarious.

I thrive off of making people laugh, which was a bit more difficult to do since not many people could understand my sarcasm and jokes. Thank God that Julie was there, since I could freely joke around with her. One time we were sitting at the table for dinner when Julie leaned back in her chair and announced to me that her Spanish brain was officially fried for the day.

"Yeah, mine too," I said sarcastically. "So you've got a brain fart?"

"More like brain constipation," she replied.

"That sounds like it's really clogging up the brain toilet," I said, grinning.

We both laughed and she got up to put her dishes away. I suddenly realized that Omar, one of the youth, had been sitting between us during this entire conversation and now had the strangest expression on his face of amusement and incredulity.

"Sorry," I told him. "American potty humor." He nodded.

I started to say something about brain toilet plungers, but changed my mind. "I was about to take that joke even further, but I don't think I will."

"Thank you," he said seriously.

I could get away with being sarcastic as long as it was obvious from the tone of my voice and as long as I was speaking to the right people. But words could only go so far. I wound up resorting a lot more than usual to physical comedy. I'm happy to say that everyone laughed more with me than at me and my suckish Spanish ways.

The experiences of the trip will be continued again later today. Pt. 1 was pretty serious so I decided to go with something more lighthearted in this one. This blog post is getting mighty long so I'm stopping for a while. Keep checking back!

Costa Rica, baby...

Sunday August 7th, I heard about a Costa Rica trip that the youth down here was about to embark on. Three days later, I was on a bus with ten other people who I either didn't know or barely knew. It was a God thing that I was able to go in the first place... they'd been planning the trip for weeks while I found out about the trip literally the day before the bus tickets needed to be bought. It seemed spontaneous to me, but I think that God was having fun planning it out.

The ride to Costa Rica wasn't exactly the greatest experience of our lives. We got on the bus (which was very nice, by the way... there were TVs and AC and comfortable chairs and curtains, more than I'd expected) at seven in the morning and drove to the Nicaragua border. Got out of the bus, stood around for no reason at all, got back on the bus. Repeat for the Costa Rica border. The only difference with the Costa Rica border was that we loaded our stuff on the bus, got in... sat for AN HOUR FOR NO REASON WHATSOEVER without moving, and then was told that oops, we were on the wrong bus and we had to get off and unload and reload and get on. Ugh. We didn't make it to San Jose until long after sunset.

We stayed with an older American couple who've started a Vineyard church. Helping us was also Julie and Steve, both Americans, and David from Nicaragua. It was fantastic to find people that I could safely speak English to, and that's a huge part of the reason why I was able to cope the entire trip.

Thursday August 11th, we went into the city for street ministry. We were accompanied by many other youth from the local Vineyard, and it was fun and intimidating to go in such a huge group. We played worship music in the park and wandered the streets in small groups praying for people.

The longer the morning wore on, the more frustrated I became. There I was, surrounded by people I didn't know, trying to pray for more people we didn't know, in a language I don't know. I desperately wanted to reach out and pray, but the others were too busy talking with the people to interpret for me what was going on and what was being said. All I felt like I could do was lay a hand on the person while the others prayed for difficulties I didn't know about.

I was in a filthy mood by the time everyone met up at the park again. In my head, I was screaming insults at every single person around me that knew what was going on. I was spectacularly furious with myself for having brought myself upon this stupid trip and at everyone else for seemingly not having any compassion for me. Walking up to the half of the group that was sitting and listening to the music, I saw an old homeless man sitting closely nearby so there was no room for me to sit in the group and pretend I fit in. Of course not. I stood there and fumed.

Suddenly the homeless man attracted my attention. He had moved over away from the group and was motioning that he'd made a place for me to sit. "Gracias," I said, forcing a smile on my face. I sat between him and the group and tried to calm down.

I felt someone poke my shoulder. Glancing over, I once again saw the homeless man who was trying to say something. The first thing I noticed was that...of course... he'd said it in Spanish so I had no idea what he'd said. The second thing I noticed was that even if I did know Spanish, it would've been hard to interpret anyways because his voice was a raspy whisper.

I summoned over the American guy we were staying with (I don't remember his name... Rodney?) to help me out. Rodney spoke with him the best he could before beckoning Julie over to pray for him. Turns out the guy had gotten a surgery on his throat so he couldn't speak very loudly. If he'd have been any quieter he would've been mute. We laid hands on him, prayed for him, and this time I was slightly pleased because I actually knew what to pray about.

However, I kept noticing that the man kept glancing up at me. Every time our eyes met, he would smile wide, even while he was talking to the others. He also kept pointing at me, referring to me as "chica". I had no idea why he kept mentioning me and if that was a good thing or not.

Eventually Julie interpreted: "He says that he was sitting there surrounded in darkness, and when you walked up--" she pointed at me "--he says the darkness fell away."

I sat there, stunned. How the... what... how could that have happened, especially while I'd been in such a bad mood? How come I had never known what an impact God could use me for? I sat and pondered this for several minutes.

It was almost time to go so I stood. Suddenly I didn't want to leave this elderly man alone, and when I looked back he blew me a kiss. This time my smile was genuine.

He surprised me again by waving at one of our company who had a camera, gesturing for her to take a picture of both of us. I wish I could say I had the picture on my own camera and/or that I had the picture with me at this exact moment, but I don't yet. I wish.

Out of all the things I've experienced this week, I have to say that particular moment impacted me the most. It showed me that God can work with anything, even people who don't speak the right language and who are in horrible moods and who are homeless and can hardly talk. I wish I could tell that man that he helped me a lot more than I could've ever done for him.

To be continued tomorrow, due to extreme sleepiness. Keep checking back!

Wow...

Well, Ive been in Nicaragua for several days now. And overall.... I LOVE IT!

Okay, not everything. I dont like the fact theat we dont have internet yet so I have to use a freaking internet cafe. But we will try to get internet as soon as we can... I only have 19 minutes to tell everyone whats happening. Oh, thekeyboard are weird so if I misspell anything or have bad grammer, thats why.

THE GOOD: You dont need a license to start your own job. If you want to do something, you freakin do it.

It feels AMAZING when it rains.

Everyone here is pretty friendly, not very hostile unless you dont tip them.

Overall things are simpler here. None of this taking things for granted crap.

Some things I cant think of because I only have 15 minutes left on the internet...

THE BAD: Getting internet connection is a huge piece of work that you only attempt when you have several hours of spare time to dedicate to it.

People will try to help you out, but only because theyll stand around and not leave until you tip them.

THE TRAFFIC. Holy crap, the traffic. Driving is basically a free for all... you do what you want, go as fast as you want to go, and you have to lay on the horn all the time. People will cross the street and not even care. They wont look both ways so you have to honk at them so they know youre there.

Kids and people walk around trying to sell things. They will go up to your car at a red light and try to offer you something. Its pretty sad.

The heat... sucks. It doesnt care if youdont sweat or cant sweat, you will sweat anyways. Just from sitting on the porch outside without a fan.



I may complain, but I really do like it. Ive yet to get homesick or emotional or weepy, which surprised me. But Im okay with not mourning over not being in the US. However, I do really miss everyone a lot and wish I had more time to really talk about whats going on over there and whats going on over here.

I will keep everyone updated, as much as I can!

Great. Its raining. Now Preston and I have to walk home in the rain. Fantastic.

:)

This is weird...

I've never done a blog before so bear with me. I'm only doing this because I like to type out my thoughts but more importantly, have succumbed to peer pressure. Everyone wants to know how I'll be doing in Nicaragua, what I'm doing, and if I've died yet or not. I even started a Facebook group two days ago, but that wasn't even good enough after realizing half the people I know don't have Facebook. And they still have the audacity to ask for updates.

Fine.

I leave tomorrow with three people from my church--Brian Fox and Robert and Kim Craft. We're all going together in the same car....VERY VERY VERY early in the morning. The actual flight itself is at 9:10 a.m. The difference between me and the other three is that they're staying for ten days, and I'm staying until September 24th.

Last year after Carrie and Preston Kolb had announced that they were moving to Nicaragua, I was just beginning my senior year. There was a lot of pressure and a lot of questioning about what was going to happen after high school. Everyone was bustling around, working on scholarships, applying to every college they could think of, hanging on to a counselor's every word about college... but for some reason I didn't want to do that too. I just really wanted something different. I looked around myself and wondered, "Is that it? Is no one going to do anything unexpected? Does everyone want to go to college or work right after graduation?" It just seemed so...boring and predictable.

I had an idea in my head of what I really wanted to do, but I said nothing for a long time. After a month or two's silence, I cracked. I pulled Carrie aside and asked if there was any possible way in this life or a next life or even a former life for me to spend a little time with her in Nicaragua. To my surprise, she loved the idea from the start.

The idea snowballed. We talked about it with Preston and my parents and each other and God for a long time (I did anyway, I don't want to speak for Carrie). And to make things short and sweet, I found out I had a lot more support than I'd ever realized, and I finally got the Okay a few months ago after a lot of anxiety on my part that I had wasted my time dreaming about traveling instead of applying to a buttload of colleges like any other sensible student.

I sent out a letter in May, offering to do odd jobs for anyone who needed it...yeah, I was pretty desperate to earn money. Unfortunately it's not cheap to leave the country. After two jobs (one from my mom, one from my stepmom) in several weeks, I was extremely frustrated one Thursday morning before school. I stormed around the house getting ready before I broke down and decided to give God a piece of my mind.

"WHY HAS NO ONE GIVEN ME JOBS?" I demanded (in my room, so no one would think I was talking to myself). "You KNOW that I need money, and I KNOW You can provide and all that stuff... but I NEED MONEY." I said a lot more stuff which I don't remember, and which I may not want to remember. I mean, I wasn't angry at God but I was frustrated enough to not want to be very polite to Him.

So saying, I marched out of my room and had to settle for venting my anger by making my lunch for the day.

My stepmom, Judy (I refer to her as Aunnie) was in a very cheerful, talkative mood that morning, and I listened to her as I finished slamming my food into plastic bags. As I was working my way out of the room, she said, "Oh, there's a check for you." And apparently another family friend was about to send a check, and apparently ANOTHER family friend wanted to give me money.

I'm not sure if it was greed or amazement made me stare at her. Immediately I thought, "God must be laughing so hard at me." When I got back to my room, I said very grudgingly, "Okay God, you win."

Since then, I've received more checks and more graduation/Nicaragua money than I can keep track of. I lost count a long time ago, but my estimate is that I've gotten close to or about a thousand dollars. And I only did four or five real jobs.

Heck--if I was God, I would be laughing at me too.