I went on my first prayer walk of the barrios last week. As we went along, some were going faster and some taking their time praying over specific houses. After a few minutes of silent bickering, Kellie got us together to pray because we all knew that our hearts weren’t right. She was absolutely right. So after that prayer, God cleared our hearts and minds to give us a beautiful opportunity. We came upon a church that we all wanted to pray over. Our first real agreement that day. So we prayed for the people to be blessed, for the church to have a hand to reach out and for God to show his face. In a Nicaraguan slum neighborhood, a bunch of gringos laying hands on a church and proclaiming Jesus’ name on its walls is a tiny bit out of the ordinary. So when we turned back to the street, we had gathered a hefty crowd peering at us from little brown eyes across the street. There was something beautiful about one boy in particular. I looked at his dark scraggly hair, dirty face, torn shirt, down, until I saw it hanging from his hand. A battered and beaten catcher’s mitt. God had spoken. We were playing baseball. Nicaraguans vs. Estados Unidos. The game was glorious. The boys tossed us their gloves to borrow as we ran onto the “field” and even gave us the benefit of the doubt when it came to strikes and balls. Let me paint picture of this for you to really get it, though. The field is a totally sketched out basketball court with over grown grass and weeds surrounding it. As you step up to bat, you look out to see boys from ages 5 to 16 with an equal amount of dirt and smile covering their faces. Behind the backstop—an imaginary backstop, of course—sit 6 of the nino’s dads watching and chatting among themselves. And if you look past the outfield to the homerun zone (where I always hit it, of course 😉 ), you’d see house after house of the kid’s mom’s watching the game from their front door. Oh, by the way, the boys won’t let their little sisters play so they cheer from left field. Don’t worry, I’ll change that soon! After a few innings, we told the kids we’d be back tomorrow. “Hasta manana a juegar beisbol a la tres!” I’ll translate that for you. “Same time. Same place. Bring it, little brown kids.” Well, sort of. So we’ve started something. God’s started something. And I am SO excited. How much more blatantly obvious could He be? Church, children, baseball glove. My three favorite things.
