Smells Like Teen Spirit

I hate roller coasters.  Truly.

Sure, to some it may seem counterintuitive - especially given my love of zorbing and most things extreme and dangerous.  But roller coasters suck.

Perhaps it's due to the ambiance that surrounds the likes of The Beast, The Claw Hammer, The Wing-Ding, or whatever the hell marketing geniuses everywhere unite in some dark pit to appropriately name those monstrosities.  I want to puke before I even get on the things.  Even though I've given it an honest effort over the years, my feelings remain.

Speaking of ambiance, at her request, I took Liv shopping yesterday.  It's been a rather tough first week back, so I was beyond pleased to spend one-on-one time with the girl.  Shopping?  Sometimes.  A mall?  Ick.  I'd almost rather go hang out in an airport.  Or, an amusement park.

She was on a mission. 

"Mom, I need some shirts.  Can we please go to Glenbrook instead of JP," she asked in her best you-know-you-love-me-even-though-I'm-killing-you-lately voice.

"Um, sure, why not?  Maybe it's not as bad as I remember it," I replied in my best I-am-so-trying-to-do-the-best-I-can-with-your-mini-me-ass-but-would-rather-stick-hot-pokers-in-my-eyes voice.

She drives.  Nothing like staging the mood.  I ask her, proactively, where she's thinking about parking in that a) I like to have a game plan and b) the closer we are to finding some shirts, the fewer number of years get shaved off my life like LeBron's stupid imposter Amish beard should have been before The Decision.

In we walk.  Now mind you, I was totally taken to task this weekend about having a penchant for self-defeating prophecies in certain situations.  So, I became extra focused and mindful as I walked through the double doors which were not held open for me by a nice Mohawk-sporting youngster.  Far be it for me to ruin a perfectly good trip to the mall before we're even out of the vestibule.

I know the stores Liv typically prefers.  At least, I used to know.  No surprise, she sauntered into Victoria's Secret immediately.  That sentence alone is wrong; the store is even more whacked. 

First of all, it's been around forever.  Secrets always come out.  Victoria is pissing me off.

Moreover, the place is so grossly overpriced that I don't care WHO sports the ill-fitting crap - it's not worth it.  Everyone knows nothing in that hell hole will turn you into a goddess, regardless the side of the bed, cellar, warehouse or boxing ring ropes you are on.  The Angels who bless us every year on national TV as they stride a shimmery white runway (that secretly just once, I wish was lubed with whatever they sell for $12.99 in the bins by the counters) are very sweet women, I'm sure.  However, let's be honest:  they are not representative of any female population I've encountered in the last 40 years.  Yet inexplicably, those are the exact women who shop in that godforsaken store.

And don't even get me started on VS's hiring practices.  It is the equivalent of filling sportscaster positions with individuals who think a sack, back, and flexbone formation is something to include in their match.com profile.

Maybe Tom Brady's wife was watching over me, because we left empty-handed.  See, me?  See, you little know-it all-who-thought-it-would-turn-out-disastrous-but-it-hasn't?  HA-freaking-HA.  What do you have to say about that, 'lil miss?

"Hey, Mom - let's go into that store.  It's way cooler."

Because why wouldn't a store named Nirvana not be?  Smell me the way, honey.  I'm just along for the ride.

Nicaragua - Day 5

Tuesday, 6/18:  Nicaragua, Day 5

Yesterday was a day filled with a myriad of conflicting emotions.   A totally productive day, we arrived at the site and the team was instantly silenced.  Smiles erupted when we realized that the holes we had dug the day before were easily 3 feet deeper than when we left.  That’s the whole point.  We are not here to do all the work for the people who live here, but rather, begin the work and have them come alongside us and complete the project after we are gone.  The entire water filtration system is a pilot initiative; if it works, it will be replicated at other community sites and eventually, at homes within the communities.

To say that clean water is a problem here is almost as gross an understatement as saying I miss cheese right now.  Although as an aside, I’m off the cheese when I get home.  An entire revamp is happening. 

No running water can be found within the homes of those who live in Terrencio, Amaya, or El Porvenir. There is one central community site in El Porvenir which has a well whereby 120 or so residents travel by foot to wash their hands, their bodies and the few clothes they own.  And that water?  Not clean at all, but it is literally all they have. 

So in conjunction with Food for the Hungry, we dug a 5 ft. trench flanked on either side by two 4 ft. holes.  When Alfredo, the head FH engineer, and his tape measure were unavailable, the team used yours truly to determine if we’d hit the 5 ft. mark. (Oddly, 4.75 inches is still 4.75 inches out of the country).  The idea is for water to run through pipes we placed inside the trench, directing it down the main hole lined with rocks anxiously waiting to filter out most of the crud that shouldn’t be in the water in the first place.

We worked and worked and worked and dug and dug and dug.  If Monday was off to a rocky start, Tuesday rocked altogether.  An assembly line was formed, shifts were taken, and blisters appeared as if they were meeting invites on our iPhones.  One person would work the pick ax until the sweat prevented their hands from holding it any longer, and another would immediately step in – or, down, as it were – and shovel the dirt out and up. 

My job in all of this, after pick axing wrecked my hands, was to level that excavated dirt with a genius Casey invention (coined “Kung-Pao shovel” by the ever politically correct, Lauren Clounie).  Not only did I happily level that dirt over and over again, according to Erik I did it, “Like a BOSS!”  Yeah, these kids have definitely gotten to know me inside of 4 days alright...

When Alicia announced that lunch had arrived, we piled into the vans and headed to Amaya for more VBS.  I love turning into the church and watching oodles of kids run towards us, waiving and shouting like they hadn’t in fact just seen us 24 hours earlier.  It’s a good, reciprocated feeling.

I was only in craft mode for about 20 minutes when Liv came into the classroom and asked if I was ready for our sponsor child visit.  Ready, anxious, prayerful, and a slew of other adjectives, was I.  After last year’s trip, we began to sponsor a then 4-year-old little girl from El Porvenir named Leoncia.  I knew nothing about her other than if she was from that particular village, it might be tougher than normal physical circumstances under which she and her family would be living.

Last year, we learned while traveling the main road in El Porvenir that a dump was located in the middle of the village.  Our facilitator warned us that one side was infinitely “better” than the other – meaning you were only slightly in tears on your way there; and then you were reduced to full-fledged emotional toll as you encroached.  I clearly remember smelling that emotional toll last year before actually seeing it.  Realizing the children were dodging flames in an effort to grab whatever usable items and food they could, I gasped in the burning air and wished my brain wasn’t processing the same scene as my eyes.

So, I stopped.  I stopped right in front of the last house on the right…the one closest to the dump and took it ALL in – the overcrowded, dirty home with undernourished animals, kids, parents, and grandparents.  I looked in their eyes, said hello, and held onto that feeling for an entire year.

Until I saw them again yesterday.  When the FH van stopped out front of the exact same house and said, “We’re here.”

 

 

 

Reuniting, Connecting, and Filtering - Day 4, Nicaragua

Monday, 6/17:

Today was officially our first day in the field.  We were all excited and knew immediately upon opening our doors that the day would be a scorcher.  There is another mission team from the States staying at the hotel as well; typically we eat breakfast together in the restaurant each morning.  In fact, one person on their team attended Concordia Theological Seminary in Fort Wayne.  Yep, small world indeed.

Two buses carry us daily to and from the day’s destinations.  Upon loading them this morning, we were off to El Porvenir to begin building a community water filtration system.  No diagrams, no cliff notes, just a “water filtration system.”  Uh-huh...sure.  We had no idea what this was supposed to entail, but we quickly found out.

I was particularly excited on the drive to El Porvenir, as it was the village I worked in last year (along with Ali, Rob, Darby, and Casey).  I couldn’t wait to see if the kids, teachers, and families would still be there and if so, if they’d remember me.  Somehow, when you meet people in your life for a brief time, the experience becomes an instant memory when the time comes to part ways.  You kind of just chalk it up to, Well, they were nice; I had fun, and you jump right back in to your daily routine. 

But when you see faces you recognize and the inherent smiles which belong to them and them alone, it becomes sharing life together.  The bond is immediately re-established, and time is no longer in the past.  There is another day in our collective future, one with unimaginable joy, of which today reminded me.  Our job, in addition to building a water filtration system, is to ensure our brothers and sisters of Nicaragua (and beyond) are with us to share in what can only be described as the One thing that matters.

God was at work in mighty ways today as he filled our hearts with sentimentality, our minds with determination, and our bodies with strength.  Because let me tell you, digging holes 5 feet deep in the heat of the Nicaraguan day requires Thor-like abilities.  Good thing there are a lot of strong high school boys on this trip!  (Not to mention a lot of old volunteers to cheer them on and stand strategically for pictures.)

We were only in El Porvenir for a few hours this morning, with the actual digging occurring for about an hour.  The first part of our arrival was consumed with unloading supplies like wheelbarrows, wood, and some other shiny things that I’m sure have technical names and even better uses.  Some measuring and roping off of areas behind the community showers went on, and then the labor was in full swing – pun totally intended and excused, because I am way overtired.

We were muddy and productive.  Lunch was driven to us by FH and we ate inside the buses.  Once we were through slamming the chicken, beans, rice, and tortillas, we headed over to Amaya for an afternoon of VBS. 

In militant formation, three lines of super happy kids greeted us inside the church at Amaya.  As we walked in, they clapped loudly, cheering at our arrival.  There we stood – two sides of people facing each other, with no divide between us at all.  For our God was there, connecting us once again.

We painted, crafted, and danced the afternoon away in style together.  Frisbees were thrown, balls were kicked, and bikes were ridden.  But most of all…love was shared.

We’re back at it again tomorrow, and I for one, am ready.   Along with the ibuprofen I have sitting out on top of my suitcase…

 Oh, and look who I found!

Nicaragua - Day 3

Sunday, 6/16:  Day 3, Nicaragua

Something else which hit me at 5:15am this morning about Nicaragua – I sleep ridiculously soundly here.  And it’s a good thing I’m sleeping in a twin bed or else some physical hitting would have occurred to curb the jake brake-like snoring.  Forget an alarm clock.  I scare myself awake in this country.

After breakfast, our facilitator, Alicia, took us to church in Terrencio.  Terrencio is the village where we spent the majority of our time last year; we split into groups every morning, but reconvened at noon for lunch and an afternoon of VBS in the classrooms.  Lunch was delivered in boxes to the church, which was perfect since its daily consumption mimicked the Last Supper – a morning of machete’ing is not for the faint of heart.  So this morning I could not wait to arrive at the same church and all its familiarity, this time for a 2 hour worship service.

As our bus turned off the dirt road onto the main cobblestone street, children began to run and wave wildly.  I was looking for Rosa – a clever and savvy girl who engaged in an understood quasi-power struggle with me the first day we met last year.  By day two, she was engaging in a baseball power struggle; by day three, she was wearing an OSU hat. 

In fact she was the same girl who literally stopped the bus as we pulled away for the last time, pushed open the doors, climbed the steps and yelled, “Bet!  Bet!  Don’t leave me!”  I hugged her tightly, looked at her tears through mine, and promised her I’d return. 

Rosa was not in Terrencio earlier today, but I caught the back of her through the bus window.  We bumpily rode through the neighboring village she calls home (El Porvenir) on our way back to the hotel.  I’d know that confident, cocky stride anywhere.   Her now 12 year-old self seemed 
unchanged from afar, but I have no doubt she still rules the roost, as well as all the boys.  I can’t wait to hug her again tomorrow.

--------------

“Church” is different here.  It’s intense.  It’s moving and uplifting in ways which are indescribable unless you’re standing there, taking it all in amidst the excessively thick air.  Oh the air.  It simply does not flow inside that building, rendering its inhabitants sticky, smelly, nasty messes in a hurry.  Everything must be covered out of reverence to God, and we happily complied.  My sundress was soaked inside of 7 minutes, coming in second place only to a lightweight (or so I thought) cover-up counterpart.  I could not have cared any less.  Nor could any other soaking wet attendees.

The congregants move when they sing.  They feel when they respond.  They love with all their hearts. 

…All in Spanish. 

I understood roughly 20% at best of what was being said for 2 solid hours, yet, like last year, I was moved at my core.  Some things you don’t have to fully understand to just fully know.

"Where two or more are gathered..."  No matter the country, no matter the setting, no matter the language – we all worship the same God.  The One who knows us, and loves us anyway.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nicaragua - Day 2

Saturday, 6/15:  Nicaragua, Day 2-ish

The earlier post was really a recap of our travel day yesterday (Friday).  I have already officially lost track of all time, as the people of Nicaragua live extremely slow-paced lifestyles.  As we were riding this morning to Chinandega from Managua, I looked intensely out the bus windows, taking in the different surroundings. 

Mountainous terrain was in the background at every angle; people were closing in on mopeds and inside of overcrowded buses.  There are no driving rules here (which you know, makes me want to take the wheel) and I couldn’t quite reconcile where everyone was in a hurry to end up.  I think the locals have just gotten so used to driving like they’re starring in Frogger that it’s more of a routine pastime than an effort to arrive anywhere on time.

Families line the streets, sitting almost whimsically on plastic chairs in front of their Good Humor ice cream carts.  Some sell Coca-Cola, others sell hot dogs.  Well, presumably there are hot dogs inside the carts.  We didn’t stop.

The people just gather; that is their entire day.  There are no sales goals, there are no “plans,” there are no agendas.  It just is.

Often times in my life I have wondered if that’s a better way to live.  Realizing the definition of “better” is always subjective and relative, I have stopped trying to come to any conclusion.  But without question, different lifestyles are not only interesting, they are a necessity.  We are all products (or, at times, victims) of our environments and culture.  We are human.  And we adapt.  

In fact this group adapted so well today it made the leaders proud.  After an earthquake registering 6.5 prevented us from going to the ocean, we hunkered down at our hotel for the afternoon.  Our rooms are small, but completely functional and cozy. 

Once everyone unpacked, we hung out by the pool for the afternoon.  Friendly competition ensued both in and out of the water.  Mariam made the mistake of sighing, “I would do anything to work out right now,” so she and I did a speed pool-run ladder in the kiddie pool.  She enjoyed it so much that she decided to let me know later via a thorough euchre butt-kicking.

I’m enjoying the process of getting to know these kids.  Maddie is not only one of the smartest 15 year-olds I’ve ever met (quantum physics connoisseur AND a master hair-braider to boot), but she’s inquisitive and open to conversation.  Yeah…unplugging and talking all day was worth the dry contacts and every uninvited bug that nestled its way into my already affected heart.

The night ended with a group dinner and time of prayer.  We were each asked 3 questions and asked to journal about the answers.

What did you guys notice about the culture of Nicaragua?  What are the similarities and differences to the U.S.?

(As stated by Erik):  "The people here have so little and treat it as so much; sometimes, we are the exact opposite back home."

Amen, kiddo.  Amen.

Nicaragua - Day 1

Saturday, 6/15:  Nicaragua Day 1

Well, we are safely here.  And to think it only took 16 hours, one passport securely placed into checked luggage, and a queasy stomach flight casualty later.

Yet, all is well and everyone except the local roosters and I are asleep.  I forgot that Nicaragua is in the Mountain Time Zone, so we are two hours behind home on the clock, the same time on my internal clock, and on “Nicaraguan” time everywhere else.  The pace is slow; the people are friendly; the air is thick.

And I am very glad to be back.

We have a good group of kids traveling this year.  Collectively, we total 25.  I’m not sure what that registers in decibels, but suffice it to say, I didn’t talk much yesterday.  Instead, I observed.  I witnessed things that made me laugh, made me proud, and almost made me cry.  Group camaraderie does me in every time.  From the constant razzing to the constant support, it’s pretty cool when it happens effortlessly.

So after having successfully tracked down Rob’s passport in Indy as it circled a super clean conveyor belt on its way to the abyss down below, we grabbed a late lunch and waited to board the plane to Houston.   An on-time and smooth flight, our mission was underway.

Upon arriving in Houston, it was a mad dash to the food court – I had also forgotten how much High School kids can eat – and we boarded again en route to Managua.  That flight?  Not so smooth.  Todd managed to pull some strings and get me seated in the very last row on both flights.  I’m a smidge claustrophobic and would prefer making friends not on a plane, so couple that with my tired and a lot of self-talk was happening.

I am also not a fan of amusement parks under any circumstances, so when I lost my stomach in Demon- Drop-meets-that-horrid-Pirate-Ship-thing-style, I was only distracted by poor Alex throwing up 3 rows ahead.  Thankfully, Lauren handled it like a champ, promptly coming back with some remnants and an announcement of, “He’s fine, I’m getting him another bag and gave him some gum.”

When our plane finally landed as if we were getting pictures taken by family members standing on a bridge at the end of a log-flume ride, people started looking at me with a “What the ?” sort of look.  Clueless as to why, I look around.  And it’s not what I see that helps me understand the inquisition, it’s what I hear:  my kid in hereditarily, over-tired hysteria.  She’s screeching this sort of incomprehensible laugh, tears are flowing, shoulders are shaking.  Mariam’s eyeballs peer over the seat at me in an understood glance, and the rest of us start busting out in unison because you can’t not catch the contagion.

As we walk through the airport in Managua, we immediately paid our $10/each for a visa (Rob:  “Can the government really legally charge us to come here?”  Me:  “Three words.  Government, Nicaragua, ‘legal’.”  Just hang on to your passport.”).  I wasn’t sure if I’d remember the intricacies of the surroundings, but I did, and not much has changed in a year.  At least at the airport.

We were greeted by Alicia, a 25-year-old Food for the Hungry employee who is leading our group this year.  She and I talked on the bus ride from the airport to the center where we stayed last night – the place I sit now as I type.  Alicia has only been with FH for five months, but she is knowledgeable, friendly, and bright.  She graduated from college a few years back and is now studying Portuguese, which made me feel no bueno for my lack of Española.  Who knew those CD’s would take so long to listen to in between Petty and running down some dreams.

Miraculously, 25 tired and hungry travelers were still in decent moods as we arrived at the center around 11:00pm local time.  Our luggage was handed to us from atop the bus, and I self-talked my way out of picturing Aunt Edna, because Liv had already done the hysteria justice.  Wheeling in our bags, we smelled the chicken, vegetables, and papaya juice.

We ate, some showered, and some crashed.  And collectively, we slept.

Day 2 begins today as we travel to Chinandega – 2 ½ hours northwest.  Once we arrive, we will check into the hotel where we will stay through Thursday, gather into teams, and prepare for the remainder of our week.

We are all looking forward to meeting the people in El Porvenir, as we work to build not only relationships, but water filtration systems.  Oh, and hopefully play a little baseball.  Nothing breaks down language barriers faster than flying around makeshift bases in the pouring rain.

And nothing ends a blog post faster than 6 loud high school boys waiting to eat breakfast.

 

Doth: A third person singular present tense of "do"

Tomorrow, 24 high school kids and 5 adults leave on a mission's trip.  Destination:  Nicaragua.

I have the privilege of tagging along again.  We were newbies last year, arriving in Managua, Nicaragua with only our charitable wit stowed visibly in our carry-ons, ostentatiously ready to "help." 

We were shuttled into various villages where the inhabitants wanted nothing more than to share time, love, and laughter.  Their faces lit up when we arrived merely because we were there, neither expecting nor desiring additionally anything.  These people live in a country known for its corrupt government, broken relationships, and spiritual poverty - thank goodness we know nothing about any of that - yet have an overwhelming appreciation for total strangers who naively think they are the ones helping.

This morning, I am thankful last year's visit confirmed the cliché "you will never be the same" is categorically true.  I am thankful that experience is the best teacher in all areas of life.  I am thankful God allows for head-shaking disbelief to wake us up when we need it most.

Speaking of, as I was mightily trying to wake up this morning with trough of coffee in hand, I read today's Proverb:

Ointment and perfume rejoice the heart:  so doth the sweetness of a man's friend by hearty counsel.  --Proverbs 27:9

The book of Proverbs is a collection of pithy sayings.  Yeah, I am also thankful for pithy.

Supercalifragilistic Sunday

As this weekend winds down, I find myself loving every minute of its reflection. 

First, let me just say I love, love, love thoughtful people.  Caveat:  not the sickening over the top I expect something in return for disingenuously kissing your ass and feeding your already overinflated ego type "thoughtful" people.  I abhor those buttmunchers.

These kind:

Classy, direct lady.  Stands up for what she believes in, and calls out anyone with an obvious agenda.  Thanks, sister.  You dissipate my Catholic-girl guilt just by being you.

In typical dichotomous fashion, I'm pretty sure I not only constructed a brick wall on the fly this weekend, but tore one down as well.  I wish anyone the best of luck getting through what I throw up when it has anything to do with Liv.  I move mountains that make brick walls look like child's play for that girl - 16-year old pain in the arse that she is.  And never will that change.

Shockingly, slowly, maybe the carefully constructed wall which I erected two and a half years ago (ok, fine, in 1973) has come down.  Maybe...I think.  I'm somewhere between left and right, gliding back and forth like Oksana Baiul trying to greet that godforsaken little ball before it lands and I lose my turn.

As if that doesn't require enough Olympian-like maneuvering, apparently I am also supposed to give it a whirl without ever remembering how much Pong kicked my ass, or how big of a letdown Super Breakout turned out to be.  I suppose if I am going to continue to be defiant and "think," then the least I could do is remember that you had three turns to clear two screens of bricks before it was a total GAME OVER.

Speaking of games, last night's was certainly another love of my weekend.  D-Wade "ain't got nothin' more to say about his bum knee 'cuz that's all we been talkin' about for 2 months," and Fredo is sick of carrying that gimp and the pterodactyl who can't get anything done in the paint when he runs into a 7'2" brick wall.  Hey, Bosh...I know a girl who can help break you out of your slump.  See above when you're done hanging your head in voodoo hex formation.

Lastly, my day with Liv has been pretty great.  I took a break from writing a book proposal (fingers and eyes crossed) to make her breakfast when she awoke at lunch.  We talked about meaningful things, why people do what they do, who we allow to infiltrate our lives and those who, without question, don't deserve an ounce of our energy. 

As I type this, Liv is sitting right beside me, typing paragraphs four and five of her English paper - due tomorrow, duh - while critiquing the first three I wrote.  The three, mind you, I put together in an hour after never having read either book we are "linking the greater idea between."  She's staring at me now, after resolutely announcing "I'm done."  The shot clock takes longer to expire than that effort, but what the hell do I know? 

I'm just a thinker.

Um-diddle-diddle-um-diddleye.

The Irony of Timing

...in fact, it takes almost no time whatsoever.