Showing posts with label Nicaragua. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nicaragua. Show all posts

Monday, April 2, 2012

Jesus Worldwide: Nicaragua

From Katie: This week we're headed to one of my favorite places in the world: Nicaragua. We are blessed to be able to do it through the eyes and camera lens of my friend Jessica. <>< Katie

In early March a team of 30 college students (mostly nursing majors) and three leaders journeyed to Jinotega, Nicaragua. The main focus of our spring break mission trip was to do vision screenings and distribute eye glasses. This allowed us to care for the needs of many Nicaraguans and open doors for further spiritual conversations to happen.
Our team put on three days worth of vision screenings in the areas surrounding Jinotega. Stations were set up for blood pressure and check-in, testing each person’s prescription, fitting them with their new glasses, getting new clothing or shoes, and the prayer room. Each member played an important role in the day.
We had so many first time overseas travelers and first time mission trip participants. It was very cool to be part of them experiencing culture shock and so many new situations throughout the week. The Lord was faithful to meld our team together and help us to work together as one unit.
One experience that impacted me very strongly was two afternoons that I got to spend with some families from the city’s landfill. I’ve been to dump communities before and seen poverty across the world. This time was not terribly different. There were people living on very little in very tough conditions. The thing that was so dumbfounding was the spirit of hope that existed in the believers. They had so few things to their name but they were beyond wealthy in the hope and joy that penetrated all the stinky, dusty, dirty clothes they wore. I was encouraged and challenged by their spirit. If they can be so wealthy with what few things they do have, what excuse do I have not to praise the Lord every day of my life?
I was absolutely blessed beyond belief to be back in Jinotega. I was able to continue many of the friendships that I had begun last year and gained many more brothers and sisters in Christ!
"The church means a lot to me. It is a place where I can find God more, a place I respect very much, and a holy place. Please pray that the church does not fall and that it will be blessed." - Nelson, Jinotega native

Friday, February 24, 2012

Life Without Music

Earlier this week I had coffee with a delightful woman whose family does not listen to much music. My understanding is that it's a sound issue where they can't handle the volume level. They went to a concert and had to leave because the sound stimulation was too much.

I tried to envision what my life would be like without music. I almost always have music playing. If it's not on, there's probably a song running through my head. Concerts are my family's bonding activity.

We've gone to the same multi-day Christian music festival for nine years. Our record is six Mark Schultz concerts in one calendar year. We sit around quoting "As Is" by Peder Eide as if "Samson was a long-haired, arrogant womanizer" is a perfectly logical thing to say in conversation.

If it weren't for music, we'd probably have to watch movies or take up karate like normal people.

When I talk about Lifest, I tell the silly stories: the standing ovation earned by a water bottle, the mud so bad our van had to be pushed into the parking lot, using my lawn chair as an umbrella, etc.

But I think about it, I think about worshipping with Phillips, Craig, and Dean as the rain gently fell on my face. I think about kneeling on fist-sized gravel to stretch my arms up to my Abba Father like a child wanting to be held. I remember Peter Furler (when he was in Newsboys) talking about God's perfect timing only to have a nearby train interrupt his sentence.

Can I worship without music?

I love how the Lord gets my attention through songs I've heard a million times. I get a taste of heaven when strangers unite as a family to sing praises to our Father. I didn't perform "My Savior, My God" in ASL in front of a crowded room of Nicaraguan believers; I worshipped my Savior, my God with my hands.

Through music may be one of my favorite ways to worship, but it's certainly not the only way.

To affirm or encourage someone, that's worship. To serve and love on someone, that's worship. To hug someone, to squeeze a shoulder as you pass, to look someone in the eye. Worship. To genuinely ask how someone's doing, to sit down and share life over a cup of coffee, to bring lunch to an under-employed freelance writer. Worship. To dance, to play ping pong, to sign, to make copies, etc. they can all be worship. (My thoughts on this have been heavily influenced by TASTE Worship--check it out).

In Guatemala, there was a day I was "forbidden" to sing and sign. I worshipped that day. I removed flecks of orange paint from a brush and bucket, and it was worshipful.

Can I worship with music?

Last summer, I remember running through the park arguing with God about being twenty minutes late to a forty-minute show. He brought to my attention that I was not approaching the concert with the right heart.

It wasn't the first time.

How often do I attend a concert just to add another artist to my repertoire? How often do I absent-mindedly sing along without realizing what I'm saying?

These questions hurt because I am ashamed of their answers.

Even at Christian concerts, my heart is not always in the right place. I've sung along, I've waved my arms, I've screamed at the top of my lungs, and I hate to confess it has not always been for the Lord.

It happens under a rain-free sky. It happens in a crowded, dark auditorium. It happens in my church on Sunday mornings. It happens to me more often than I care to admit.

I voluntarily took a day this week and turned the music off. I washed dishes in silence. I drove across town in the quiet. I worked without any accompaniment.

It was weird and awkward at first but then it became peaceful.

That's worship.

Weird and awkward at first. Uncomfortable and strange. But then peaceful, wonderful, and necessary.

Whether you're a person who loves to literally feel the beat of the drums or just prefers white noise in the background, take some time this week to worship with the radio off.

Let me know how it works for you.

<>< Katie

Friday, January 20, 2012

What More Do You Want

"What more do you want from God?" Neal asked the congregation. We all came from very different backgrounds united only in the Lord.

"¿Qué más quiere de Dios?" Manolo translated.

I didn't need to wait for the translation before I began making a mental list of things I wanted from God. All selfish things, too. I was in Nicaragua and still had an out-standing balance on my trip. I had applied to five graduate schools and was still hoping for acceptances. I was hoping to head to China in the summer and was waiting for those pieces to fall into place.

"He's already give you Jesus." Neal's words slapped my list-making face. I needed to hear them again.

"Él ya te dio Jesús."

What more can I want from God when He's already give me the best He can: His Son. He's already given me all that I need, and it's called grace. He's engraved my name on the palm of His hand, and I'm asking for money.  He's given me purpose, hope, and a future and there I sat in an uncomfortable Nicaraguan folding chair asking for more.

I felt naked, like my selfish, dirty list had been broadcast by the broken LCD projector. In a way, they were. They were available for One to know.

I like to think God chuckled when He watched me frantically try to erase them, delete them, unthink them.

I gave up on my list that day. I took peace in Abba giving me His Son. What more could I ever need or dare to want?

Days like today it's easy to start making a list again. I want this job interview to go well. I want to see her joy and her smile on this earth once again. I want reassurance that God truly is good and in control.

I want everyone to know the hope we all have in Jesus. Jesús. 耶稣.

I want all of God's children to know how loved they are by their Father. I want them to know forgiveness as intimately as I do. To know they don't need any more than that.

Abba, use me to reach Your people. May my life show Your love today and every day. In the States and across the world. When things go well and when dreams aren't achieved. Lord, let my love for You be contagious. When people see me may they have no choice but to love You more. Draw them into Your loving arms, Lord. May they know that no matter what life brings, Jesus is enough. Our greatest need has been satisfied. Thank You for Jesus. Teach me to remember that He is enough, always more than enough.

This is my prayer. My hope. My desire.

<>< Katie

Friday, November 4, 2011

Who are the Poor?

For the last week I have been dog-sitting in a very nice neighborhood.  Day after day, I walk the dog down the freshy-swept street looking at the fancy homes, the manicured lawns, and expensive cars.  Part of me wonders if I could ever afford to live here.

Financially, it's a lofty goal for this unemployed recent grad. That's not what I meant.

I mean, could I afford to live here


when some live here?


Can I live here

having been here?

The Bible doesn't say "Don't live in a nice house"... but it does say "give everything you have to the poor."

But who are the poor?

Are the poor the children in a hogar in Guatemala who play with one-armed Barbies but have the joy of the Lord in their hearts and it shows on their faces?


Are the poor the people paying taxes on their 4,000 square-foot homes who are on the brink of divorce, have disrespectful children, and hire someone else to pick up their dog poop?

Part of me says, no way, I will never live in a classy neighborhood. (Especially based on those stereotypes). I've seen too much poverty to be comfortable in a large, neat home.

Perhaps that is true. For just me and the dog, this four-bedroom, three-bath home is way too big. But what if I had a husband and children?

Through trial and error, I have learned some aspects of third-world ministry. I have been to places where hand sanitizer and toilet paper are luxuries. The girls in the photo above aren't just children worlds away with stories that would break your heart. We know each others' names, they are my sisters, and they almost knocked me fifteen feet off that ledge ten seconds after that photo was taken when they tried to all see it simultaneously.

Yet, as I walk through this nice neighborhood and wonder about the people inside of the homes, I wonder about them and their lives. Do they know their neighbors? Do they realize there's more to life than fnancial success? Most importantly, do they know that God loves them?

How can I walk my dog down this street


knowing stray dogs roam down this street?


Easy. On both streets there are people that have never heard the name of Jesus.

How can I limit ministry to the without-money poor without including the without-Jesus poor?

Third world ministry may be teaching people how to brush their teeth, handing out bracelets, and fitting them with eye glasses. It can be loving them, making a fool of yourself, and living the gospel.

Is that not also what is the first world also needs? Love, humor, and (most importantly) Jesus.

First world ministry is greeting neighbors as you pass them on the street, hand-delivering a warm breakfast to the neighbor's housesitter and inviting her over for dinner, or cutting someone else's grass because they're having a busy week. It can be releasing a child from poverty through child sponsorship and telling others about your Fridge Kid. It's loving the way Christ commands us and living the gospel.

He is the God of this city

just as He is of this one.


Can I afford it?

How can I NOT?

The Great Commission commands us to GO and make disciples of ALL nations (Matthew 28:19, emphasis mine). I like to GO to another nation; it has become comfortable to me. But GO can also mean GO to the other side of the shurbery.

No matter where you live, GO and be the missionary you were called to be (Acts 1:8).

It starts with me.

<>< Katie

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Remember Brazil

A few months ago I was felling extremely discouraged.  I had gotten a gut-wrenching rejection for a job I was passionate about at my own alma mater.  I was hosting a pity party.

In the midst of my tears, God whispered, "Remember, Brazil."

Last fall, I applied for a mission trip to Brazil.  I researched the city, borrowed a Portuguese Bible, began fund raising, and prayed for our trip.

All of the sudden, our team's planning came to a screeching hault.

Airline tickets and a Brazilian Visa put a stop to our trip.  It might be an understatement to say our team was extremely discouraged.  Truth be told, I cried at the team meeting when we decided Brazil would not come to fruition.

Several team members jumped ship and pursued other mission opportunities.  No one blamed them.  Those of us who remained spent some time not knowing if we were going to even have a trip.  Never did the thought of changing trips cross my mind.  Never did the thought of not having a trip sink in.

God opened up another opportunity, and on short notice we began to prepare for different destination: Nicaragua.

One student who had not expressed interest in Brazil, applied to go to Nicaragua.  She wanted to practice her Spanish.  I have no doubt she was supposed to be on our trip.

Of all of us, she came home the most changed.  Even others noticed something different about her.  If we had gone to Brazil, this change would not have happened.  Today, her re-birth through baptism, would not have happened.  We went to Nicaragua for her.

We went to Nicaragua for Stephanie, our Nicaraguan interpreter.  After only a few days of traveling with us, Stephanie noticed something was different.  She recognized the Holy Spirit in us and wanted to be filled in the same way.  Right then and there she began a relationship with our Lord and Savior.  If we had been in Brazil, God would not have used us to reach Stephanie.

God rearranged our entire trip for those two daughters.  He changed the plans of thirty plus people in order to change the lives of two.

It's not every day that God rearranges plans for His glory.

Or is it?

A spilled cup of coffee gets you out of the house late to avoid a major traffic jam.

A rejection letter keeps you from a company going bankrupt.

A malfunctioning alarm clock kept you from being in the Twin Towers when they were hit.

God changes our plans for His glory.

Anytime I start to forget: I remember Brazil.

<>< Katie

PS: Everyone has a 9-11-01 story.  Mine is of a selfish seventh grader who just didn't want to be in class.  For a heart-piercing story, check out the blog of Meg Cabot, author of The Princess Diaries.  My heart and prayers are with those affected by the tragedy.  We will never forget.

Monday, July 11, 2011

Skype Date

At Lifest on Saturday two lives where forever changed in one slightly uncomfortable moment.

Peder Eide, the host of the grandstand, held the packet of a Compassion child above his head and said, "Lifest, I've never done this before.  But this is Maria from Honduras and we need a sponsor for her right now.  Who wants to sponsor Maria?"

There we all were, listening for the pull of the Holy Spirit, wondering who was going to step up.  A woman from the sea of lawn chairs answered the call.

Peder invited her on stage and asked her why she chose to sponsor that child.  A brand new Compassion sponsor, you could tell she was a little overwhelmed.

"How would you like to meet Maria?" Peder asked.

She didn't know what to say.

He invited her out to a computer that was set up to Skype Maria.

Their conversation was short yet powerful. 

I cried watching Lifest Skype Honduras.

It made me homesick... for Central America.  For Spanish.  For kissing people on the cheek.  For trying to understand the difference between mango and manga.  For worshipping our God, our same God, in another country, another language, and another way and realizing He understands and is comfortable with all of it.

I can't buy a plane ticket to Nicaragua.  I can't Skype my family in Costa Rica.  I can't play with my kids in Guatemala.

But I can write a letter to Maria, my family's Compassion child in Columbia.  I can facebook my brothers and sisters in Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Guatemala.  I can pray for believers in Central America and around the world.  I can look forward to and prepare for my upcoming trip to China with an unquenchable excitement.

What are you going to do?

Do you sponsor a Compassion child?  If so, send your child a letter.  If not, why not? 

Sure, most people don't get to Skype their sponsored child.  My roommate Jennifer got to meet her sponsored child in the Philippines, but that's not a reality for most of us.  Yet through letters and photos, your sponsored child becomes part of your family.  You get to share the hope of Christ and one day you will meet your sponsored child... just not on this earth.

Think about it.  Pray about it.  Try it.

Excuse me now, my sister Maria is overdue for a letter.

Dios les bendiga, amigos,
<>< Katie

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Home

Last week I made my first trip to Baptist Country as an alumna.  When we pulled into town, it didn't feel like I had been gone a month.  It felt like we had just gone to Elizabeth's for the weekend.

Very little has changed. 
A few trees have blown down, the construction projects have progressed, and there are not nearly as many cars in the parking lot. 

So much has changed.
My ID card no longer lets me into buildings, my mailbox is boarded up, and I am not returning in the fall.  Yet still it feels like home.

It was years ago when I first referred to that little town as "home."  If I flew to The Homeland, I said I was flying home.  If I flew to Baptist Country, I said I was flying home.  The lines between "home" and "school" were so blurry that I gave up on what to call each place and declared travel days "Airplane Day," no matter which direction I was going.

What is home?

Is home my parents' house?  Is home the college town where I went couch-surfing last week?  What exactly is home?

I wish I posted everything I've drafted because in February I wrote a post entitled "Redefining Family."  It claimed "family" was my five suitemates, my ten-person ministry team, and my lunch buddies.  Sometimes family has little to do with blood relation.

Home is where your family is.

I'm having a hard time deciding where "home" is because my family is in The Homeland, my family is in Baptist Country, my family is in Nicaragua, in Guatemala...  Does that make home all of those places as well?

In the same way that The Homeland will always be "home" because my family is here, Baptist Country will always be "home" because my family is there, too.

Beauty and the Beast taught me "home is where the heart is."  If that's true, then I'm heartbroken.  In Baptist Country, I want to be in The Homeland.  While in The Homeland, I yearn for Baptist Country.  I don't think this is necessarily a bad problem to have, but I am not a fan.  For four years my life has been split by 900 miles, a chasm that is not closing anytime soon.

Until God sends me somewhere else, home will have to be my parents' house.  No more trying to outsmart amazon.com to get packages delivered to my P.O. box.  No more loitering in the caf.  No more spontaneous trips to Wal-mart even though we don't need anything.  No more "Katie, party of twelve, your table is ready."

As I struggle to define such a basic four-letter word, I must also remember that in the grand scheme of things, none of these places are "home."  They are all temporary dwellings prior to an eternal home.  I honestly believe that someday there will be no sixteen-hour drives and no time change because there will be no time at all.  There will be a day when tears won't roll, hearts won't break, and pain won't hurt.  All of God's children will be home, constantly singing praises to Him, for He deserves it. 

That, my friends, will be Home.

<>< Katie

Friday, May 6, 2011

Bug Bites

"Let's bless the food," Neal said.

"Daddy, will you pray for my bug bites to stop hurting?" asked his five year old daughter.

He nodded and blessed our food, making no mention of her bug bites.

A few hours later, our mission team was sharing about what God has done in our lives since we've returned from Nicaragua.  She raised her hand and again asked that he pray for her bug bites.

Neal kindly put his finger over his mouth signaling for her to be quiet.

Five year olds aren't very good at being quiet.  She tried.  She cuddled with a college student.  She sat in her mother's lap.  She again asked that we pray for her bug bites.

I could not help but admire her persistence.  And her faith! She knew her bug bites were itchy and rather than begging her mom for anti-itch cream, she begged her dad for prayer.

I know all too often we prefer prayer to be the last result.  We don't want to go to God with requests we think too minute to bother an Eternal God with.

First Thessalonians tells us to pray without ceasing.  I'm pretty sure that doesn't mean "only pray after you've tried to fix the problem yourself."  I'm pretty sure that doesn't mean "only pray about important things."  I'm pretty sure pray without ceasing means pray always, always present your requests and concerns to God, hold constant conversation with Him.

Before the night was out, we did pray for her bug bites.  And God didn't think her request petty.

<>< Katie

Thursday, April 28, 2011

The G-Word

As many are quick to remind me, graduation is less than a month away.  I'm trying to ignore this fact.  If I don't think about it, if I don't write it on my calendar, it's not going to happen, right?

At our mission trip reunion I shared how I'm having a hard time with this whole graduation thing.  Later someone mentioned that summer was coming fast.

"Shhhh!  Don't remind me!"  I protested.

They were all really supportive and told me it's going to take forever to get here, like Christmas.  A little while later, someone else spoke about graduation.

"We're not allowed to use the G-word," I said.

Of course, Neal's ten year old son Ethan proceeded to use "The G-Word" repeatedly just to vex me.  He counted down the days and told me how fast it was going to come.  Typical brother...

It was all in good fun but I didn't really appreciate it.  Later, in telling the story to my suitemates, I slanted it to share how I got picked on by a ten year old.

Allyson came in to the middle of the story.  "Wait, what G-word?  God?  We're not allowed to say, 'God'?"

From now until whenever I'm allowed out of time out, whenever my suitemates and I are discussing graduation, I must also say "God is in control."  But don't tell Ethan.

God IS in control!
<>< Katie

Monday, April 11, 2011

A Saved Catholic?

"I don't know if you can be Catholic and be saved... I'm still figuring that out," cried one of my Catholic friends during our team worship night in Nicaragua.

When she first made the statement, my defenses went up.  I'm not Catholic, but I have a lot of friends and family who are Catholics.  Of course you can be Catholic and be saved.

Throughout the rest of the week, God let me see the plight that literally brought her to tears before us in a moment of transparency.

We walked into Central American cathedrals and my heart broke due to the distorted Jesus so many people have been taught.

The man huddled in the corner fervently praying to the painting of a deceased bishop.

The woman filling the offering box with Cordobas as if she could buy forgiveness.

The crowds ritually progressing through the streets holding a crucifix high in the air.

Jesus still on the cross.

As we walked through those decorated cathedrals, I found myself praying for the lost within the sanctuary.  I wanted to stay and minister there rather than be a tourist.

It wasn't the label "Catholic" that bothered me. It was the un-biblically based Jesus.  The Jesus represented is not the Jesus I know.  That's what broke my heart.  The desire to earn forgiveness and eternal life doesn't take into account for grace and mercy.  The lack of understanding that Jesus is accessible to each and everyone of us, made me sad.

I'm not bashing Catholicism, I promise.  I'm bashing the missing of Jesus that we are all guilty of.  We get caught up in talking about homosexuality, abortion, and divorce rather than showing and teaching the love Jesus was adamant about.

We can call ourselves Christians and not know Christ.  Worship can be a weekly event we attend out of habit not a lifestyle we lead.

Yes, you can be Catholic and be saved.  But going to church doesn't make you a Christian any more than going to the race track makes you a race car driver... going to a ballet makes you a ballerina...

The Christ I know is more than a character in a big book.  He's more than a man who did some really nice things.

He's God and man.  He lived by example, practiced what He preached, and gave the ultimate sacrifice.  And He calls us to do the same.

Do you agree? 

Then show it.  Not in my comments section but today on the road, in the classroom, in the cafeteria, and at the store.  Let's redefine Christianity.

It starts with me.

<>< Katie

Friday, April 1, 2011

God: Interpreter, Provider

I didn't realize how much time Neal and I spent together in Nicaragua until I got home and started telling these stories.  I think this is the last one (for now).

On Thursday morning we drove to another middle-of-nowhere church where we were going to do a service at 10am.  The Nicaraguan pastors suggested we walk around town and invite people, especially children, to the service.  So we did exactly that.

We strategically split into two groups with our best Spanish-speaking students split up and our bilingual Nicaraguan pastors split up.  Manolo, the bilingual Nicaragua pastor in our group, told me he wasn't going to translate our invitations.  That was all my job.  Huh what?  Not fair!

I would have much preferred to hide in the back and not do any of the talking.  Manolo was going to make sure that didn't happen.

So towards the first house we walked.  Our team stayed in a crowd in the street, and Neal and I approached the front door.

"Buenas," he said.  "We're going to have a church service over there at ten o'clock if you'd be interested in joining us.  Especially children, we're going to have activities and games for them."

Yeah, I don't know those words.  But I translated the best I could.  Then Neal and I walked on to the next house, and Manolo talked to the people, probably clarifying what I said.

Neal tried to get the other people in our group to introduce the neighbors, but only a few did and still I did all of the translating.  Honestly, I didn't really think it fair that they got to hang out and talk while I did all of the work.

That's because it was awkward and very uncomfortable to walk up to a house and talk to strangers about church... in Spanish never the less!  Neal and I confessed to each other that it was out of our comfort zones.  But with every house, we admitted, it got easier.  Neal became comfortable with his spiel and thus I began to anticipate what he was going to say.  Of course, he threw me a curve ball now and again but the more houses we talked to, the less clarification Manolo gave afterwards.

 Of course, by now it was 10:05 and we were still inviting people to the service at 10:00... Nicaraguan time.

As we walked back to the church to prepare for the service, we talked about how the Holy Spirit interprets for us.  It communicates what we cannot.  That brought me so much peace.  Even with my befuddled Spanish, the Holy Spirit allowed to be heard what needed to be heard.

When we got back to the church, we were able to see the fruits of our labor.  Not at first, mind you, but slowly the church filled up.  Eventually, they dismissed the kids to go out back.

One... two... three... four... I stopped counting at 50.  Our final estimate was about 80.  All squished into an area the size of a dorm room. 

And again we had no plan.

We did a skit to stall for time.  Then Sara told the story of Jonah (and Annalisa, our best Spanish-speaker, interpreted).  Then we handed out Jonah coloring pages... until we ran out.

Then we handed out home safety coloring pages... until we ran out.

Then we handed out blank pieces of paper... until we ran out.  That time we ran out of kids asking for paper.

I manned the paper and crayons while our other team members scattered themselves among the masses.

Some of our girls set up in the corner of the backyard area and made Salvation Bracelets. 

We kept worrying about running out of beads, so we signaled for those incharge of the service to wrap it up.  They saw, "Keep going."

Five loaves, two fish, and a half-a-bag of beads we did not run out.  God is such a provider!  It's was awesome!

It was great to be on the bus leaving and see the children wave, each boasting a Salvation Bracelet on the wrist that matches mine.

I came home with some very important lessons learned:
1. Sometimes God asks us to do things that are uncomfortable.  But the more you do them, the more comfortable they become.
2. The Holy Spirit interprets and speaks when we cannot.  What needs to be said is said through no doing of our own.
3. The Lord provides.  It's as simple as that.

Thankful for Grace,
<>< Katie

Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Being Used

"I'm tired," I said, resting my head on Neal's shoulder.  It was lunchtime on our third day in Nicaragua and we'd already done three church services, visited three schools, and been performed for twice. 

He put his arm around me in a side hug.  There we stood in silence for a few minutes.  I never said this but I was more than tired; I was discouraged.

The previous night we had done a worship service at a youth-filled home church in the city.  It was in the upper room of this little house where our team of 26 took up most of the incredibly uncomfortable seats.  The youth from this church sat scattered among us, crouched on the floor in the back, or stood squished in the corner.

They started out the worship service with some songs, prayer, a dance, and a short message.  Then we did some of the same things: three songs, a skit (the only service we didn't do The Heart Skit), a prayer, a sign performance, a testimony, and a sermon.  By the end of the service, most of our team was in tears, in awe of how alive the Spirit of the Lord was in that church.

This is an excerpt from my journal that night:

God, I'm a little jealous that everyone else had such wonderful experiences tonight. I know You are alive and here in Nicaragua but I didn't feel it the way everyone else did. I know that You speak to everyone in different ways but it seemed like You spoke to everyone in the same way tonight... except me.
My eyes were dry.  I felt nothing.  I was annoyed with God for not allowing me to feel the same thing as everyone else.  I was jealous, and I hadn't told anyone but God.

My head still resting on his chest, Neal rubbed my arm with his hand.

"God's using you, you know," he said.

As silly as this sounds, I was surprised to hear that.  I knew that God would use me but I did not know He is using me.  Present tense.  Not some abstract future occurrence but right now.

Neal continued, "A lot of people said when you signed 'My Savior, My God' last night was when the Holy Spirit started to work on them."

What?

I had no idea.  I figured God had started speaking when they danced, when we sang in two languages, when the father and son did a duet, when we prayed... sometime long before I took the stage.

Apparently not.  The Holy Spirit used me and I had no idea.  While I still would have liked to enjoy the overwhelming experience like the rest of my teammates, I was stunned and amazed to learn that I had been used and I had no idea.

I think I thanked Neal for telling me exactly what I needed to hear.

The version of "My Savior, My God" I signed was written to be a trio.  I signed it by myself.  A Trio, a Holy Trio, perfromed it.

Sometimes the Holy Spirit uses you and you know it.  You feel it.  But sometimes the Holy Spirit uses you and you have no idea.  You don't feel it.

Are you ok with both?

I am.

<>< Katie

Monday, March 28, 2011

Pitiful or Beautiful?

Our last morning in Nicaragua, we left at 4:30am.  As we were driving towards Managua we watched the moon go down and the sun rise in the mountains hand-crafted by our God.  The moon set was breath-taking.

I handed my camera to Jessica for a photograph.  It failed to capture the moment.

"Pitiful," Marie said upon viewing the photo.

Jessica handed the camera back to me.  "Beautiful," she said.

It was in that moment that I learned the difference between pitiful and beautiful: the person saying it.

Friends, God tells us we are beautiful.  Why do we keep referring to ourselves as pitiful?

We are who we are.  We are who He created.  Why do we tell Him that His handiwork isn't good enough?

<>< Katie

"You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you."
Song of Solomon 4:7

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Anaconda Squeeze

It's very overwhelming for Nicaraguan places to be invaded by 26 Americans.  The first day, half of our team was going to the special needs school and the other half to an orphanage.  We had planned VBS-like activities.  My group was going to teach the story of Daniel and the lion's den with audience participation and a corresponding craft.

Flaw in the plan: a miscommunication with the orphanage meant we wouldn't be able to work there.  After some quick re-figuring, we found ourselves working with 5 and 6 year olds at a school.

Flaw in the plan: this was a public school.  That meant no talking about Jesus.  There were two sets of 80 kids each and we had no plan.

Yay for being flexible and thinking on our feet.

We got the first group to sit under the shade of a tree while we introduced ourselves, did some silly skits, and told them why we were in Nicaragua.  (We did slide Jesus in there briefly).

After that we let them play.  We tried to teach them Duck, Duck, Goose (Renamed Gato, Gato, Perro).  It didn't fly.  The soccer balls did.

Eventually recess was over, so "Neo" collected the balls and became a human jungle gym.

No matter how many times he said, "No," those two little boys wouldn't stop reaching for the balls.  I had the perfect distraction: a camera.
One kid became two, became four or five, became thirty... There are about 50 more photos that I want to post just to show you the cuteness of the crowd we drew.

I ran out of funny face ideas before they lost interest.  Instead, I started asking them questions in Spanish.

Katie: Are you having a good day?
Adorable Children: SI!
Katie: Do you like recess?
Adorable Children: SI!
Katie: Is it better than math?
Adorable Children: SI!

They loved every minute of it!  Every "Sí" was more energetic than the previous.

Eventually my other team members came up and introduced themselves, talked about why we were there, and did some skits.  I did all of our interpreting for that group which meant I had no idea what the next plan was and I didn't get thirty second water break during the switching of groups.  When we told them to stand up, they did.

I think it probably started with one child's desire to give me a hug.  As had happened previously, one child turned into two, turned into three or four, turned into fifty.

My very first Anaconda Squeeze!

I deserved to be trampled because I was the one who riled them up... but I loved every minute of it!

I relished that moment.  I tried to touch every child around me and told them all that I love them.  I wish I could have told them about Jesus and how much He loves them.

I also wish I would not have forgotten how to conjugate.  When there are fifty kids latched to your waist, it is almost impossible to stay upright.  But I couldn't find the words, "I'm falling."  I got "to fall," "I dropped it," and "he fell" but not "I'm falling."  I finally realized I was going down and there was nothing I could do about it but try not to crush kids in the process.

When I started to shrink, the rest of my team stopped taking pictures and realized I needed help.

Eventually, we got the 50 kids off of me and divided into groups.  Naturally, my group was the largest, and I still had no idea what we were doing.

As per Erin's suggestion, we started the Hokey Pokey.  In English.  Meaning what?  Katie's solo.

Right arm.
Left arm.
Right leg.
Left leg.
Head.
Stomach.
The kids were starting to get it, so I asked for body parts from them.
Hair.
Chin.
Right knee.
Left knee.
Eyebrows.
Forehead.
Teeth.

Three days of Hokey Pokey later and I was out of breath and thinking about what we were teaching these kids: the Hokey Pokey is what it's all about. 

We could tell these kids we were there because of Jesus but we couldn't tell them who Jesus is.  We couldn't tell them Jesus loves them.  We couldn't tell them about how great Jesus is.

It broke my heart to imagine these kids going home and having this conversation.
Mom: How was school today?
Child: Great!  We tackled some Americans at recess!
Mom: Why were there Americans at you school?
Child: I don't know.

We couldn't tell them about Jesus's love, but I can only hope and pray that we were able to show them the love of Christ through our actions and play time.  They definitely showed us what it mean to love like a child.

It also made me think about how often we have the opportunity to tell people about Jesus and we don't.  When we have the opportunity, we fail to seize it.  When we don't have the opportunity, we desire it.

What if the Hokey Pokey really is what it's all about?
But what if it's not? 
And what if we're missing opportunities to speak the Truth?
What if we were better about speaking love?

<>< Katie

Thursday, March 24, 2011

The Climb

"It's not very, how do you say?  Es-steep," said our host-pastor, Manolo.

Famous last words.

From my first step off the bus I knew the hike up the mountain would be challenging for my out-of-shape self.  Manolo said it would take 45 minutes, but I didn't dare time it.

I followed in line behind some mountain runners... I don't run on flat ground much less up a mountain.  It was not long before, I was incredibly out of breath and I could feel my heart pound in about 87 different places.  It was so bad someone asked me if I have asthma.

Those in front of me kept going but I could not keep up no matter how hard I tried.  I gave everything and it wasn't enough.  Finally, I paused to rest.

Neal: Hey, Katie.
I didn't even have the breath to respond; I turned my head towards him.
Neal: That's where we're going.
He pointed above our heads to the rock.
 
Neal: Does that encourage you or discourage you?
Katie: I know it's supposed to encourage me, but, honestly, it's really discouraging.

I had no idea how far I'd come but it seemed shorter than I had left to go.  That was discouraging!

As the runners disappeared from my view, I found the strength to continue.  I'm not a quitter.  I knew it would eventually be worth the pain.  And I had been promised communion at the top of the mountain.

A Nicaraguan youth with our group offered to carry my bag.  I let him (that bilingual Word of the Lord is heavy!), and he disappeared up the mountain.

Katie: There goes my water.
Neal: I have some.
Katey: We can share mine.

I felt so cared for and loved.  I was getting up that mountain, my friends were going to make sure of it!
Neal would pop back down and again, but Katey and I walked together the rest of the way up the mountain. She accepted my pace, and we stopped frequently to enjoy the views (ok, and catch my breath). It was no longer a race to the top but about enjoying the journey. Slowly I began to enjoy my trek rather than only continuing for the communion at the end.

Tortoise-style Katey and I continued towards the top... Slow and steady. Eventually we heard laughter and shouts from nearby.  Even though we'd lost the rest of our group, they had to be nearby.  We rounded the corner and there they were.
We'd made it!  We had reached our destination!  The handiwork of our Creator was ours to enjoy!
From the top, we could see for miles, kilometers, actually.  It was breath-taking!  When everyone made it to the top (believe me or not, Katey and I weren't last) we took a group photo.  Best team photo ever!  Then we took a seat and listened to Manolo teach while we watched the Master Painter paint us a beautiful sunset!
Afterwards, we were given the assurance of the forgiveness of sins through the body and blood of Jesus Christ.  We then sang "Revelation Song" a capella.  Breath-taking!

The wind was blowing and the sun going down, taking the temperature with it.  Even with the goose bumps on my arms, I didn't care much. 

Now in the dark, we began our journey down the mountain, under the barbed wire, and around the rocks.  Except we hadn't planned to be hiking in the dark, so we didn't have enough flashlights for everyone.  New version of walk by faith and not by sight!

We walked slowly, getting split up as we went.  We prayed for safety.  Cold rain began to fall.

Hiking down a mountain in the dark, shivering, and it's raining.  Sounds awful, right? 

"Well, it'll be a story to tell when we get back," I said.  Honestly, I thought it was wonderful.  Maybe I'm biased because I was one of the lucky ones with a flashlight.

Sherry began a rendition of "The Wheels on the Bus."  That turned into "The Hokey Pokey" which became "I'm in the Lord's Army" and "Father Abraham."  (Those are Baptist songs... I don't really know them either).  We were having so much fun singing and slipping.

Eventually our group got separated, and I walked alone with my flashlight.  Under my breath I continued to sing.

I love You, Lord,
and I lift my voice
to worship You.
Oh my soul, rejoice.
Take joy, my King,
in what You hear.
May it be a
sweet, sweet sound
in Your ear.

Abba, I belong to You.
I belong to You.
Abba, Father.
Abba, I belong to You.
I belong to You.
Abba, Father, God.

Worthy is the
Lamb who was slain
Holy, Holy is He.
Sing a new song
to Him to sits on
heaven's mercy seat.
Holy, Holy, Holy
is the Lord God Almighty
who was and is and is to come.
With all creation I sing
praise to the King of Kings.
You are my everything,
and I will adore You.

Just me and Jesus time.  Somehow amidst the literally rocky ground, the cold breeze of night, the gentle rainfall, and the tiredness of my body, I found the strength to praise Him.

The climb down was considerably better than the trek up because I had a goal.  It wasn't the top of the mountain.  It wasn't even the bus at the bottom.  It was to spend time in the presence of the One who formed every mountain, placed every rock, and grew every leaf.

The same One who put me there was worthy of all of my praise.

When we made it to the bus, those who were already there cheered for the newcomers.  I smiled.  We did it.  Not by our own strength or power. God's hand of protection guided us up and down.

Take a minute to praise Him today.  Amidst the barbed wire, the rocky ground, and the wind.  As you share the heavy load and water with friends, thank Him for the friendship.  As you see flowers, sunsets, and raindrops realized He formed you, too. Enjoy the hike up; it's not a race.  Enjoy the stumble down; it's ok to fall.

<>< Katie

PS: No one was hurt in the making of this blog.  (Except maybe a spider).

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Broken Hearted

I had never before seen The Heart Skit when our campus minister Neal gave us the thirty second plotline.  Three or four of us volunteered to be the protagonist, but Jessica chose me.  I kept quiet while they discussed who would be the man to break my heart.  They unanimously decided on Neal.  After making sure no one else wanted the part, Neal agreed.  Due to time constraints, the final cast was not able to practice together.

That night, the magnitude of the skit hit me.
1. I was going to have my heart broken on stage in a silent skit.  Can you say: FACIAL EXPRESSIONS?
2. I was going to have to flirt with my married campus minister.

I prayed for emotional strength and thought about boundaries.

During church the following morning, Neal and I took opposite sides of the stage.  In my hands I held a paper heart.  Neal's object was to romance me until I gave him my heart.  We made eye contact and showed embarrassment.  He waved; I giggled.  He took a deep breath and stepped closer to me.  I looked away and made the same move.  He put his arm around me; I leaned into him.  He reached out for my heart, and I pulled away.  He hugged me, I hesitated before surrendering the heart.  We both smiled from ear to ear.  He took my hand and paraded me around.  He pointed into the distance, I looked, and he planted a kiss on my cheek.  I blushed.

Was NOT expecting that.

From the side of the stage came another girl.  His attention shifted.  I tried to pull him back but he pulled away.  From behind, I wrapped both of my arms around his waist; he dragged me across the stage.  Using his foot, he pushed me off.  I stumbled backwards, regained my balance, and ran at him, jumping for my heart.  He pointed to the heart, pointed to me, pointed back to the heart, and got a devious look.

He took his hand off the other girl long enough to rip my heart to pieces and throw them on the ground.

I fell to the ground with my broken heart.

A friend walked by, picked up a piece of my heart, looked at it, dropped it, stomped on it, and walked away.

Two friends came and tried to help me piece it together.  When they let go, my heart fell apart again.

I sat on my knees trying to put my heart back together like a puzzle.  It didn't work.

Brett knelt at my side.  He put one hand on my back and a Bible in my lap.  His eyes dripping compassion, he pointed up, crossed his arms over his chest, and pointed to me.  I turned away.  He tapped me and pointed to the Bible.  I pushed him away.

Alone I sat, cupping the pieces of my heart to my chest.  It wasn't working.  I sat them down and turned my interest to the Bible Brett gave me.  I hesitated, closed the broken heart into the Bible, sat back, and prayed.  I waited until the camera flashes stopped.  I opened the Bible and tucked in the Psalms was a brand new heart!

Praise the LORD! For it is good to sing praises to our God; for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting...He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:1, 3

I love the image of being healed in Christ represented in this skit.  But I think it's oversimplified. 

Heart breaks are very real; being healed is a long, slow, painful process.  I've been there.  Five times last week and my share of times in weeks and months previous.

Our hearts are not the only ones that get broken.  We are often cast in Neal's role doing the heart breaking every time something we find more attractive or interesting comes along.  God's heart breaks every time we turn away from Him.

Every time, ladies, we're infatuated with a guy rather than with Him.
Every time we put our focus in something else.
Every time we doubt, fail to trust, are too hard on ourselves.
Every time we cry, God's tears outnumber ours.

Take a moment right now and tell Him how much you love Him.  Let Him love you back.  Let Him heal your heart.

With love,
<>< Katie

Sunday, March 20, 2011

Nicaragua

I have crayon under my fingernails.
My hair has dirt in it and is uncooperative.
My legs are scratched up, bug-bitten, and hairy.
I'll spare you the details about the revolt happening inside of my body.
I'm physically drained but emotionally and spiritually on a mountain top!

Sorry for the silence last week.  I was on a mission trip to Nicaragua.  We had one goal and one goal only: serve God.

That meant going to five church services in one week but being the church all week.
It meant entertaining 80 kids for an hour... twice.
It meant building relationships and encouraging people in what they're already doing.
It meant loving and serving with everything we have.
It meant visiting the fire station, touring the local hospital, and climbing mountains.

Let me tell you, the Holy Spirit is alive and well in Nicaragua!  It was so encouraging to see!

I'm trying to get all of my thoughts into the same language. As I do that, I'll share stories and photos... so don't go anywhere!

But now... I must go to bed.  Yesterday was a 22-hour travel day that included a six am pit stop because someone was bus-sick, two plane rides, and a 1am tire-change on a 12-passenger van.  But we are all home safe and healthy!

<>< Katie