The Mosquitos on Cloud Nine

I've wanted to live in Latin America since my first trip to El Salvador the summer after my freshman year of high school.  In fact, I'm fairly certain my pastor thought he was going to have to return to Indiana and tell my parents that I'd decided to stay.

(Don't worry, Mom.  I haven't cancelled my flight home yet.  That's not where this is going.)  Still, living two months in Nicaragua has been hands down one of the best experiences of my life.  It's like I moved to Cloud Nine for the summer and realized it was everything I had ever imagined and then some.

But I was disappointed to find that Cloud Nine has mosquitoes.  And not just mosquitoes, it also has flies, giant cockroaches, tarantulas, scorpions, and mice.  Oh, and don't forget the drunk men that sit on the street corners and wolf-whistle as you pass by.

Looking back, it seems silly, but this has been my dream for so long that I was surprised to find that it wasn't perfect.  I knew on a "head level" that there were going to be hard parts and things I could do without, but on a heart level I was slightly disappointed that my dream was being tainted by reality.  After a few weeks of settling and adjusting, I admit that I slowly began to think of my life here as "normal."  Instead of marveling that God had provided for me to have something that for so long had been a desire of my heart, I was caught on the tiny details that didn't match my vision for how things would go.

So I suppose in more ways than I'm willing to admit, I'm an Israelite.  It's always shocked me that only two chapters after the Lord parted the Red Sea that they might escape their captivity in Egypt, the Israelites are already whining: "If only we had died by the Lord's hand in Egypt!  There we sat around pots of meat and ate all the food we wanted..." (Exodus 16:3). 

How did they so quickly forget the years they spent begging the Lord to free them of Egypt?  Did they not believe that He who sent plague after plague to breakdown their captors would remember them now that they had been freed?  What caused the chronic lack of trust that so quickly turned thanksgiving to whining?

And then I must turn around and ask the same of myself.  Was it not just three months ago I was on my knees begging the Lord to provide for the logistics of this trip?  And now here I am, letting the mountains God moved to get me here be overshadowed by a handful of mosquitoes and the mouse that ran under my bed a month ago.

I refuse to let my dream-come-true be ruined by the fact that it actually came true.  Instead, I will praise God that He has brought me to a place beyond my wildest dreams and trust that He will provide the endurance for the parts that aren't quite as I'd imagined them.  I refuse to allow myself to have an attitude of entitlement about the ways my God has blessed me.

So, hello from Cloud Nine.  It's wonderful here... And yes, there are mosquitos.  But I have a God who is bigger-- and lots and lots of bug spray.

Falling with Style

I had a salad yesterday for lunch.  My first salad in a month and it was pretty darn good.

The Nica diet is very carb heavy (lots of bread, beans, and rice), somewhat light on the fruit, and VERY lacking in vegetables.

Exhibit A:

So after about a month I was more than ready for a salad.   I went to the local supermarket to buy the ingredients around noon.  The struggle really started when I went to check out: I realized I had left my dollars for safekeeping in my other bag and that I didn't have enough cordobas (local currency) on me to pay for everything.  I asked the cashier if I could put some of my items back and he agreed.  It's a process that involves calling over the manager, canceling out the order, and re-scanning everything-- not to mention the math involved in trying to guess what I can buy and what to put back.

Just as the manager is making his way over, I remember this is the one store in town where I can use my credit card.  So now that I've settle on a type of payment, I'm still struggling to get my card and license out because it's hot and my leather wallet has apparently been coated in glue when I wasn't looking and thank goodness the poor cashier is so patient and the ladies behind me sort of just roll their eyes and chuckle because I'm just a gringa after all.

If there's anything I've learned in my past month here, it's how to fail well.  In my first week, I might have been beating myself up over the scene I caused.  Not so now, I just brushed it off with a semi-embarrassed smile, a heartfelt sorry to the cashier, and the knowledge that something similar will undoubtedly occur again.

Learning to allow myself the permission to fail has been equal parts difficult and freeing.  It's been about surrendering my desire for perfection, letting go of my pride, and realizing that failure is not only a very important part of learning, but perhaps the most important part.  It's the reason I know that "año" means year but "ano" means butt.  It's the reason I will never point at a moto taxi as a part of a conversation.

I'm learning to let myself fail, and in doing so, I'm failing with much more grace than ever before.  The truth is, I'm human.  Whether you're in another country like me or sitting in your own house, we're all going to screw up.  We're dependable like that!  We may as well allow ourselves the freedom to do so rather than expecting perfection from imperfect beings.

To anyone not walking through life with me right now (geographically speaking), it may look like I'm spreading my wings and flying for the first time.  But the people with a front row seat know the truth.  In the words of famous philosopher Woody from Toy Story, "That wasn't flying, that was falling with style."

What, Exactly, I'm Doing

“So what, exactly, are you doing in Nicaragua?”

I keep getting this question, so I think it’s time to address it, en masse.

I’m interning this summer with a Christian community development organization called International Teams (ITeams for short).  Specifically I’m a health intern in Masatepe, Nicaragua.  As the first health-related employee of ITeams in Nicaragua, my job is to analyze the healthcare in Masatepe and figure out how future teams/ employees can best assist those Nicaraguans who are looking to make sustainable improvements.

Which is to say I’m doing a lot.  I’m testing water sources and looking for ways to increase the clean water supply to Masatepe.  I am working with public and private healthcare facilities to determine how donations of time and equipment from the US can be used effectively to create long-term change driven by Nicaraguans.  I am trying to figure out a safe way to kill every dang mosquito in the entire country and, believe me, they’re motivating me.

But that is only a fraction of the crazy things God has brought me to this summer.

I’m also participating in a discipleship huddle that’s smashing through my previously shallow view of what discipleship meant.  I’m running in the mornings on routes that include everything from coffee farms to lagoon views with a group of people from all over the world.  I’m bonding with my fellow interns by climbing down the side of a mountain in the rainforest on a ridiculously steep, muddy, path, sprinting across 10-foot hoards of biting ants, and finding monkeys by yelling back to them when they scream.  I’m learning how to say useful things like, “I dropped my phone in the toilet; do you have any rice?” in Spanish.  I’m staying up late to talk with my mama Nica about topics from boy problems to how Nicaraguan familial brokenness is rooted in cultural tendencies.

In other words, I am being stretched and shaped and challenged and broken and put back together and poured out and filled up all at once.  I am changing, and yet somehow becoming more me than I ever have been before.  God is giving me the desires of my heart-- everything from vulnerable friendships to knowing him better to seeing a monkey in the wild.  At the same time He is breaking my heart for the suffering that people live through every day and for my own role in being a part of a sinful humanity.

What, exactly, am I doing in Nicaragua?  I’m not changing the world.   But I am doing everything I can to be a part of how God’s changing the world (and my heart as well).  Because I look forward to the future we’ve all been promised: on Earth as it is in heaven.

Cuando No Hay Agua (When There Isn't Water)

At night, the water is off.

Most days, starting at around 3pm, the government shuts the water off and people can only use what they have stored in buckets in their homes.  There’s a bucket in the shower for washing your hands or rinsing off at night.  There’s a bucket in the kitchen for drinking water and another for rinsing dishes.  Running water is a gift only enjoyed here in the morning.

They say it’s because the government is conserving water, but this “fact” is debatable.  In reality, it’s probably more of a power play.  Tap water isn’t a right here, it’s a privilege, and the people are reminded of this every night when they turn the sink knob and nothing happens.

But last night there was water.  I could have jumped for joy.  I could shower before bed.  I could brush my teeth without needing a water bottle.  I could flush the toilet.

One week in Nicaragua and I’ve already come to feel thankful to the government when they don’t turn off the water rather than upset that they do at all.

One of my fellow interns pointed out the spiritual parallel that this story has.

Sometimes, the water is off.

For any number of reasons, we haven’t heard the voice of God regularly for months.  We’ve stopped reading our Bibles every night and only get around to it when we have some free time or feel guilty enough.  Church is really more of a chore than it is refreshing.  Although once in awhile we turn the knob of our spiritual life and find that water gushes out, most of the time we aren’t even rewarded with a drop.

And still we adapt to this.  In fact, we come to view it as normal.  Rather than crave the Spirit of God in our lives more, we just learn to be thankful for the few times a year He seems to really show up.  When we should be protesting for change, we end up thankful to the very things that bind us.

There will be days when the water is off.  It’s simply part of life.  But this doesn’t mean we should ever lose our thirst.  In fact, we should seek the Living Water we are promised so diligently that we are willing to abandon what we had originally thought to be normal for something so much more.  

I pray that I am never fully satisfied in my need for Christ, the Living Water.  May I never think it's normal to turn the knob and find no water.  And when I do, may I get up and search for Christ ceaselessly, until I am drowning in His love.

"See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland." -Isaiah 43:19

"Jesus answered her, 'If you knew the gift of God and who it is that asks you for a drink, you would have asked him and he would have given you living water.'” -John 4:10

This One For The Ryans

After a whirlwind of planning, packing, and tying up lose ends at home, it only really sunk in that I was moving to Nicaragua for the summer when my plane took off from the Indianapolis airport.  And then it hit me again several times before I actually got to Nicaragua.  Even though I woke up in a bed in Nicaragua this morning, it still seems unreal.

Regardless, I have arrived safely after two uneventful plane rides.  I am staying with a woman named Elizabeth*, and her mother, Amelia.  Or as I call them “mi madre nica” and “mi abuela nica” (my Nicaraguan mother and grandmother).   They’ve both already won over my heart, particularly Amelia who showed me each drawer and hanger in my room and then every inch of the house.  My room is lime green and large, with a huge wooden closet.  It’s gorgeous and bigger than my room in the States.

 

I’m safe, happy, and surrounded by amazing people, which is really all I could ask for.  I haven’t done much besides sleep but I’m sure I will have many stories to follow.

But I want to take a moment to thank all of the Ryans in my life.

To be clear, even if you have a different given name, you may still be a Ryan.

There were two Ryans that were particularly instrumental in this trip to Nicaragua.  The first was the Ryan who persistently put this International Teams internship on my radar, even when I thought it was only a pipe dream.  The second Ryan is a friend from college who gave me a “friendship bracelet” before I left college.  Before you roll your eyes and call it middle school, you should know that each of these bracelets was made to model an Indian tradition where brothers swear to protect their sisters.  I wear it on my ankle to remind me of all the people praying for me when times get tough.

So more than an update, this post is a thank you letter.  First, thank you to each and every one of you that has ever pushed me to pursue a dream, even when I never imagined it would become a concrete possibility.  Thank you for believing in me, and for reminding me that God often has bigger plans for us than we imagine possible. 

Second, thank you to all those who have supported me in coming here.  If you gave financially, I most definitely appreciate that.  But I mean so much more when I say “supported me.”  I mean thanks to my mom for forcing me to pack so I was actually ready on time.  Thank you to my professor last year who taught me how to deal with suddenly being in another culture.  Thank you to the family of a friend that prayed specifically for easy travels when they learned about my fear of complications there.  Thank you to the gentleman who happened to be visiting my church when I talked about this trip and walked up to me after and asked to donate.  And thank you to the countless others who didn’t ever realize how their actions encouraged me.

You guys are my Ryans.  God placed you each in my life, and because of your devotion to Him, I am able to write this from Nicaragua.  So thanks for joining me on this crazy adventure.  I cannot wait to tell you about everything God does here.

*Names are changed for privacy reasons.

Drowning Not Enough

June 1st.  That's the date at which point my future sort of becomes a black spot in my imagination.  Spending two months in a country you've never been to is the sort of thing your brain decides is too big and simply refuses to make predictions about.  All I know is that on June 1st I will get on plane and when I land in Nicaragua shortly before noon, everything will be... different.

As I spend time trying to prepare myself for this adventure, feelings of inadequacy sometimes creep in and cloud my thinking.  What if no one understands my Spanish?  What if I can't help people because I can't understand what they're asking for?  What if my medical skills aren't enough to really do anything and I'm just a burden to the people I'm trying to help?  Or to summarize a long list of fears... What if I'm not enough?

This is one of my deepest fears, the sort of question that is gnawing at the back of my mind in every new situation.  It is in the voice that tells me not to try, to give up before I fail, or not to get my hopes up.  "Not enough" is the reason I hide my weaknesses, struggles, and scars, rather than seeking healing in the places I need it most.  "Not enough" is what keeps me with my feet planted firmly in the boat when God is calling me to step out into the waves.

I was feeling "not enough" last week when I opened my Bible to 2 Corinthians 12 and read these words: "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

You see, if there is one way God has been preparing me for the unknowns in my future it is this: instead of reassuring me that I will be enough, He has reassured me that I don't need to because He is. I am trying desperately to fill the cracks I see in myself, when in reality it is those very holes through which the light of Christ shines most brightly.

I try to hide my frailties in fear that someone will realize I am only human when I should be rejoicing that I need not be anything more.  I serve a God who is so much more than human and because of that I have the freedom to fail, to struggle, to mess up and try again.  I have the freedom to forget how to conjugate a verb or to ask someone to repeat themselves.

It is with this all in mind that I now choose to step out of the boat to where Christ is calling me.  I'm sure I will soon find myself drowning, but I am no longer afraid.  I now realize I will be drowned in grace, which is more refreshing than any air my lungs could hope to find.