Random Thoughts

This past week Wendi, Alisa and I lived with the Madesto family in a barrio that is within a short walk from our home on the Nueva Vida missionary compound. We have been visiting the Madesto family for about two months now, and last week they welcomed the three of us into their home for five days. I feel as though I could write paragraphs upon paragraphs about the genuine sense of hospitality they showed us or the joys of living in a home with 23 Nicaraguans but I honestly don´t feel like elaborating on any of those topics right now. As much as I feel alive right now, I am also utterly exhausted emotionally and spiritually. Instead of using this blog to talk about my experience with the Madesto family (I know Wendi and Alisa will do an excellent job of that), I will instead share a few of my recent journal entries with you.

March 26
As I waited for Pastor Luis under the mango tree I was unable to remove my gaze from Elvis crossing an overgrown field on the Nueva Vida property. The man without a job description limped across the field with two eager dogs bounding behind him. Donated clothing loosely hung on his incredibly tall and almost emaciated frame. His red shirt undoubtedly boasted an American logo or words in English that he cannot understand. The quiet shepherd meandered through the field as his loyal sheep followed his every move. I wonder if his mind wanders to when the horse fell on him as a child or the fact that his parents gave him up or the abuse he faced in various children´s homes throughout his childhood or the fact that he was never allowed to go to school. I wonder if Elvis will ever get married or pursue a career or if in twenty years he will still wear that same indescribable smile and walk these same overgrown fields. 

March 28
I did not cry during 5th grade summer camp when everyone got saved and I am not crying or even feeling the least bit emotional right now. This morning our leaders cancelled our visit to Los Pipitos (a local school for handicapped children) in favor of us spending the morning worshipping God. We are in the Nueva Vida kitchen, some girls laying face down while others sit on the ground or stand swaying back and forth with arms raised high. A moment ago Saleena started yelling about how she wants more of God, and by the end she was crying. I wish I did, but I don´t feel like crying when I listen to worship music. Some of the girls have paused the music to talk about how much they can feel the Holy Spirit in here right now and how they feel like certain people are resisting it. I suppose that would be me, but in my defense I also don´t feel the Holy Spirit more than usual right now. Is it wrong that I feel God more deeply when I am in the action of serving Him than when I am sitting in a room listening to American worship music? IS IT EVEN ABOUT ¨FEELING¨ GOD? Does God understand when we are exhausted and all we want is a mental and emotional break? Sometimes I don´t want to think about it all or worry about all the people living in poverty and opression or wonder what will truly happen to all those who die without knowing Christ. Thinking deeply and undergoing drastic personal change simultaneously is one of the most exhausting and potentially frustrating things I have every done, and lucky for me it´s a lifelong pursuit. Sometimes all I long for are the carefree times of building indoor forts, playing Nintendo 64 for hours on end with Megan, eating small pancakes at Hannah´s house after a sleepover, riding on my skateboard down the hill in front of my old Wolf Creek house, scheming how to increase profits at my lemonade and cookie stand, playing hide and seek and cramming myself in the upstairs linen closet until I am drenched in sweat, finding pleasure in rearranging and redecorating my room, riding the bus to and from Bradley Middle School, making Pillsbury orange rolls with Mom as a special treat, falling asleep to the sound of Mom´s voice reading me a book, finding genuine excitement in Christmas and birthdays, communicating with Hannah on our walkie-talkies, playing with my small stuffed animals and sewing clothing and other doo-dads for them, slacking in school but still earning A´s, enjoying running errands with Mom in hopes that she might buy me something…     

April 16
Earlier today I lied on the floor as Saleena played the piano in a little odd-shaped room in Casa Mateo that oftentimes serves as my oasis. It wasn´t a time for words; it was merely a moment dedicated to sitting and listening. After playing several songs she paused and peeked over the piano to see how I was doing. I asked, ¨Can you play the one with the bouncy tune again?¨ She immediately knew and began playing. As I listened I pictured a scene in my mind. I later shared it with Saleena and we decided to name the song ¨Freedom.¨ I pictured several dozen people of all ages being released from slavery. I don´t know if they were Jews being released from a concentration camp after the Holocaust or if instead they were African Americans being released from the bondage of slavery in America. It was a time of rejoicing for the people I saw, as some shouted with relief and a few of the younger children eagerly ran ahead. In front of the tired yet joyful people was a long dirt path leading into the sunset. It was unclear to me what lie on either side of the dirt road; perhaps it was just grass and brush. All I know if that the people had no idea where the dirt path led, but their beaten and blistered feet had a bounce in their step, and an innocent hope radiated from the people as they trusted that the road would bring good things.