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/
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
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.
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.
I'm going to shut up and let you read it for yourselves.
"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.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
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!
"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!
Monday, August 15, 2011
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!
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!
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