POST by JED: Selling Stuff

I awoke to the drip-drip-dripping that only one of my parents' beach mission camping trips could induce. That's right, "it's 5am and I'm soaking wet, and although I'm 4 years old and a regular bed wetter (psychologists of the World unite!), this one's not on me." Higher powers are at work...

And so we troops off with our plastic bowl and plastic cup to get a scoop full of delicious hot mush and a cup brimming with refreshingly watered down water. Which, had my parents mentioned, I would have reminded them about my sleeping bag, which contained more than enough water to subdue the thirst of every parched Ethiopian...

We promptly returned to our camping quarters so that we could grab our bathroom gear and fling ourselves through the showers(?).  Then it was drag comb through hair, across teeth and off to the morning meeting we'd trot.

Hail! It was the 70s... Abba reigned, as did big hair, bellbottoms and disco. Good times. What was also fun-in-the-sun was the year I learnt about pet rocks. Cause pet rocks rock!

The praise and worship time ended and whilst undergarments were promptly being repositioned, guest speakers announced, and trapeze artists ascended the rigging, us kids were shuffled off through the side flap of the grandiose marquee for our daily class with "Sky" - the tree hugging, dark-glass-lens wearing, Jesus loving delectate that she was.

"aaaand today kids, we're going to learn all about making pet rocks. Cause pet rocks remind us of our pet, the Rock, JC, who we all currently have our feet on." My brother's and my response, "riiiiiiight..." It may be lost in translation, but this happy-hippy-JC freak was onto something. Money! That's right, pure and simple, muchas mullas.

And so that day I cleared the entire beach, at an undisclosed location (I was 4, give me some grace... And yes, my parents will be writing to say that I was actually 5, the beach was called blah, blah, blah, and seventies pop culture was the beginning of the end for Australian society...), of all pebbles and rocks.

I hauled every single solid object from the beach back to my parents delightful double-roomed tent (which were all the rage during the 70s, a home-away-from-home...)  and fell into my waterbed for a delightful 12 hours of rambunctious Z action.

Of course, those 12 hours were cut in half because of the ensuing tidal waters, sent to God's green Earth by way of thunder and lightening. I advised my parents I was leaving in the morning by raising my dripping hand in the air, as the lilo I used as a bed floated past that of my father and mother's.  To my surprise the bed miraculously floated right out of our tent and straight into the circus marquee just in time for another day of Beach Mission Madness (that's an example of just how spiritual our Beach Mission Missions were), a real hoot for any would-be holidayer.

I enjoyed yet another 2 hours of jubilation-styled praise and worship before once again being shepherded  out to a session with Smoking Sky. (Who looked like she was high by way of her bloodshot eyes and artificial exuberance for small children, whilst simultaneously holidaying on the set of Noah's Ark... But thinking back, nearly everyone was unrealistically happy, as the camp was only 10 days long and who wouldn't be thrilled-to-bits with 1,000 complete strangers in close proximity, limited clothes washing facilities during the monsoon season of New South Wales, half a dozen bathrooms for the hordes and bootcamp stlyed dining cuisine?)

I finished my worksheet on Jesus'  time in the hot, dry desert (without rain, might I add... "Yes, horrid time he must have had" my 4 year-old brain thought, not being able to believe that the tormentation he was suffering worse than the dampness I was having to endure...) and swam back to our tent, where I immediately set to work on making my designer range of original pet rocks (which I'm sure are now collectors items in Musée du Louvre). My brilliant, 4 year old brain had concocted the most mind bogglingly spectacular idea. I... was... to... create... a PET ROCK SHOP!

I spent hundreds of hours (which in reality was probably more like hundreds of seconds) sculpting, and forming, designing and planning. I drew with my silvery sparkly pen like no other 4 year old in the history of our Worl - I'm going to go out on a limb here and say UNIVERSE!

It was superb... I arranged my showroom, put the signs up and heralded the poor, unsuspecting sales victims through my contempary, artistic, concept-driven sales area. (So romantic... A gondala ride through the back quarters of the Brien's tent at Burleigh Heads...)

I made a fortune! $2.36. My parents of course were very impressed as well. I'd managed to move 3% of my stock in a single day! The weight of the "front room" had been reduced to 3.5 tons of pure rubble, but all with adorable little hand drawn faces (2 x eyes and a banana of a mouth (On some I'd even attempted to add hair and teeth - those ones must have been rather especially beautiful 'cause I think I recall hearing  a few "Oh God" and "Jesus Christ" comments. I clearly was pushing people into the Church, via my felt tip...))

In any case, I had a great time and it made my beach mission experience even more worthwhile. Needless to say my parents only ever "visited" the "mission" after that year.

Further on down the track, and my thirst for the sale had not subsided. When I was eight years old I, along with my parents, moved to Youth With A Mission in Canberra, Australia (the Nation's Capital). The building we lived in was an old monastery and for many reasons I loved this place.

One of the reasons I loved the ol' place so much was due to my captive audience. If I were to sell in our neighbourhood, I'd have to walk from door-to-door along long, wide leafy streets. In the monastery I was able to sell door-to-door along long, closely connected rooms, filled with missionary people suffering with a rare type of yucky food malyumtrition. (the food at YWAM wasn't really food... Some kind of bio-bad-bi-product...)

There wern't enough rocks lying around at YWAM and so I hunted high and low for the next best thing. I often meandered into the kitchen and watched the staff trot around making this and that. Everything was commercial and hence, lots and lots of waste. Excellent for profiteers!

 I would always linger around the dessert making area and wait for one of the YWAMers to make a mistake. They always did. "Aaaa-HUH! She's left too much batter in the bowl!" I'd race over, whilst simultaneously knocking over the poor cook as she was trying to turning back to get the rest of the sustenance out of the bowl. (The poor dear had only left the unprepared food for a single micro-second before I was into it!)

I don't know how it came to be that I wasn't booted out. What right did I have to be in there? I didn't pay for the ingredients, nor the electricity, and I greedily kept ALL of the profits for myself. What a palaver that all was...

The turning point for me was when compassion kicked in. I was working at Flight Centre Limited in Canberra, Australia. I was the manager of our small operation, with just 4 people bringing in the dollars. I was known around town as Jed the Travel Agent/Social Worker. I loved my customers and didn't give a rats about the dineros. We had fun. I can bring to mind thousands of knee slapping, thigh whacking action, too many to dialogue here... 

My workers were generally the same as I. We cared about service and process, not about the big bucks that other agencies went for. We were a family and regularly enjoyed practical jokes. (This is generally where we are more "British" than "American") On one occasion, whilst I was serving a couple of corporate clients, one of my newer workers, unfamiliar with business etiquette, tackled me to the ground right in front of my customers as they were paying for their first class holiday to Dubai!

We were always at the bottom of the pack, in terms of profits, but our sales were high and our customers loved us and really, that's all we cared about. Then one day, that all changed...

Enter, super-sonic sales celebrity of the CENTURY! Now I don't want to use actual names so we'll just call this  bird Cath. This girl could sell ice to Eskimos. On several occasions this highly capable and ultimately terrifying woman had me floored. Literally, floored. (One time, in response to some of the dazzling behaviours exhibited by our Cath, I actually fell to the ground and lay on the floor as one of our highest paying customers walked through the door. My response? "And how may I be of service to you today?" She just laughed and helped me off the ground.)

Cath loved her customers as much as, in fact if not more than, the rest of us. However, she was able to make the distinction between the love of her customers and the love of herself. She would often say to me "Jed, it's 7pm at night! I've got for children at home. Any person I service at this time is going to be paying for it!!!" And pay for it they would.

On one occassion Cath hugged a woman, who leaned into Cath's five-foot-nothing frame and cried like a wee-tot. It was both awful and beautiful... This woman's mother had just unexpectedly passed away and Cath was organising her travel arrangements to the UK.

Cath also began to cry. She eventually started balling. In the end I had to remind myself who's mother had actually died. I handed out the tissues and even took a couple for myself. It was one of those eternally gratifying moments (in a sense).

As a travel agent, I too had been in this position several times. It's a time in your life when you just kind of have to drop everything and open your arms. No one was better at this than Cath. The empathy and heart-felt responses oozed out of her. She could change the heart and mind of any customer walking through the doors. Any "problem customers" I always let Cath deal with. That great big smile, feminine way, and determination were far too great a combo for even the worst traveller to get around.

But, like the saying goes, "all good things must come to an end..." After an hour and a half, the woman sulked out the door, we stood there waving to her, like we were family seeing her off at the departures hall in Sydney's Kingsford Smith Airport.

"Gosh, that was sad..." I murmered. Cath swung around, still wiping the tears and mascara from her eyes but with a grin from ear to ear. She cheerfully exclaimed, "yeah... but I still made $900 out of her!" I then hurled my body to face her, with possibly a shocked look across my face "YOU MADE HOW MUCH?!?!?!?!" Cath, starting to giggle, repeated  the figure. The shock that went through my body I cannot tell, but it was in those moments that I most admired Cath, for the guts and for the determination. The customer felt loved and cared for, and her kids were all sporting new Nikes the very next day...

Nine hundred dollars was a LOT of money to me. Liz and I had already discussed these types of "sales dilemma-type issues so many times before (Liz, before studying journalism at university, had been in sales and had made more money than me, and I was in the high paying field (at the time) of information technology...).

Liz felt that after 5pm my fees should increase. Really, I mean on average I never left the shop until 7pm, and on a nightly basis. So I was virtually losing 10 hours per week to people I wasn't even in any kind of relationship with. Liz says it's one of my design flaws, a pastor's heart... ha ha 

In every instance of death-in-the-family, I would always do everything at cost for my customers. In fact, I used to lower my figures for any kind of reason. At one time, a girl from Adelaide had just experienced a messy break-up with her boyfriend. I found her an awesome deal with Finnair (I do love that airline) and Qantas Airways (do I have to say it??? The SPIRIT of AUSTRALIA!!!) to Europe, during peak season, for $1400 (including taxes). I spent many, many hours on a booking for a lady that I'd never met, in a city not my own, and personally received, after tax, less than $10. (Though her Dad did call to personally thank me and tell me just how happy his daughter was... I still remember his chipper voice.)

And so... here we are in Nicaragua. I, along with my wife and children, have left all of the beautiful people I love and cherish, and have entered yet another realm of sales. I believe we're all sales people in a way. When we walk out the door, every single day, we "sell" the goodness that life can bring to those around us. Do they buy it? 'Tis up to them. We "sell" ourselves. What kind of price do we put on our words, actions, and thoughts? Are they priceless?

And then when we do make mistakes, and who doesn't, who buys those? When we speak pure evil, we're vendors, but who is the purchaser? When we are unkind, when we think evil of others, who is paying for that? We ultimately bare a consequence for our sinful ways, it's kind of like a variable seller's cost, but who pays the total price for our sin?

Jesus died on the cross to pay for our sins. All we have to do is understand that yes, we are sinners. We've all made mistakes. We need to understand that Jesus paid for our sins by dying on the cross for us. We need to believe in him - believe that HE is God. We need to invite him into our lives and give him the place he deserves, as our Lord, our Father, the one who eternally is, the one who loves us... Who loves you...

Thanks for reading my blog today. My family's work revolves around the chronic needs of Nicaraguans, who also need a spiritual father. However, our desire is to reach those who don't have a physical father, who don't have access to an education, to health facilities, to a sufficient daily diet. We want to pray with those who are in prison, we want to feed and clothe the poor. Please pray for us today - we need your support...

POST by RAFFY: What Day's Sunday School Again?

One day Fran, Billy and I were going to Sunday school. My Sunday school is at a church called The Church of God. I go to Sunday school because I like it. My sister Fran and my Mom walks with me to Sunday school.

First thing we do in Sunday school is we listen to pastors in a little church. The second thing we do is to go outside with our chars and when Sunday school finishes we go home but on this day I went to my friends house.

We went to my friend's house because my mom left and she told us to go there until she came back. In a few hours I went to Oliver and Brien's house because I was board my other friend's house.

Oliver and Brien are my friends and all week they live in my house. When I gist past through the door Brien said we have 4 puppies and the puppies were cute.  

POST by SEZ: My Day Downhill

On Tuesday the twentieth of March, I went  to Luis's house.  He is big and tall. We met at a church. He lives in a little house, and he lives in Managua, Nicaragua.

First we were sliding down a hill, which is along the Punta Plancha in Solisis. Some people live up  the hill and some people live at the bottom of the hill. I slid down the hill on my feet  and it  was  a cool  ride.

When  we got to Luis's house we saw ducks and chicks. The ducks were red, white and black, and the chicks were black and white. We stopped right in front of where there was a  big edge which let down to a river.

When we were leaving Luis's house we went home and we saw a calf.  It was a little cow and Franny, me and Rafi  took it to our gardener, Yader's house. His house is two blocks down from our house . We got Yader's little calf back to his house.

Franny and I got two muffins, two red fizzy drinks, and two Nacho Queso of Ranchitas because we were hungry. We got them at the Corner Store.  Franny and I ate our snacks on the porch.

That was the best day of my life because I went on a walking trip.  

Celebration of the Nations (March 2012)

POST by RENZ: Press Your Panic Button, the Local Lads are Lingering

Every Friday we have people from the community come to our house and they play sports, go swimming and hang out. We have two age groups that come at different times. 

The first age group that comes is from ages five to eleven and they come from about four until six. However they never really do leave or come at the exact time because what can you expect it IS Nicaragua and Nicaraguans walk to the rhythm of a different beat!

The second group is from ages twelve to eighteen but people that are older and maybe even younger do come sometimes too. They start at about seven and are supposed to finish at nine but sometimes they stay for extra time just because they are too distracted and having too much fun. At six forty we have a large crowd of people outside that are just waiting to come in.

It was about five twenty when Brian was in the pool with all the other kids. Francesca, Valeria, and I were just watching because we weren't sure if we wanted to get in or not. Valeria is the kids' pastor. She is twenty years old and she is fun to be with. Her laugh is hilarious, it makes everyone else laugh too.

We were sitting down close to the pool when all of a sudden, Brian came up to us and his chin was bleeding, gushing blood in fact. He was sitting down next to us and we asked him what had happened.

He told us that he had fallen into the pool and banged his chin on the side. He was not crying and did not even say that it hurt. We took him to my mum and told her what had happened.

A few minutes later my mum had packed up her grading and was going out the door. I asked her where she was going and she told me that she was going to the hospital so that Brian could get stitches. Duh! I thought to myself. So they left for the hospital. Now they both (Brian and Brian's brother Oliver) are going to have stitches. "It's like Brian just got it to be like Oliver" I thought silently.

My mum was going to grade whilst the younger group were here and then go outside to participate with the older group, but now she could not be with the older group because she was in hospital with Brian.

At about eight, I was wondering where my mum was. Was she hiding? I could not find her. Then I asked my dad and he said "Renzy, she has been at the hospital for hours and you haven't noticed until now?!?!" I felt like the dumbest person in the world because of that.

On Monday, when they got to school (our house), Brian had a bandage on his chin and I was curious so I asked him "What happened to your chin?!" And then he reminded me of  what had happened and I felt even dumber.

POST by FRAN: A Day in My Life

It was dark, I opened my eyes and squinted to see a single strip of sun light splashed on the dark wall. I knew I needed to get up to have a shower and get ready for the day, but I didn't want to! Still laying in my bed, I heard loud footsteps "It's a MONSTER!" I shrieked in my head with fright (I didn't want to be eaten yet! I'm too young). 

The white, wooden door swang open! "It's the MONSTER!!!!" I screamed to myself again. A huge figure, like a monster, plodded into my room... It started speaking to me in a dark and scary voice "Darling it's time to get up for the day!" Oh FEEEEEEEEEEEW, it's  only my DAD and not a MORSTER!!!

As soon as my Dad left my room and shut the white, wooden door, I got into action like a power puff girl! Like lightning I was through the shower, had washed my hair, gotten out, turned off the shower (ok cut the details!) and dressed myself. I then stopped the fast as lightning thing and began to brush my hair (like a little princess) in front of the mirror for at least 15 or 20 minutes... or maybe it was half an hour. And after an hour I was ready to look after adorable little snotty-nosed two-year-olds. First mission completed!

It was only 8:27 A.M. and I hadn't even eaten anything! I decided to slow things down, because I only had three more minutes until everything started to get going (like receiving kids for school, prayer meeting before starting school, etc.) "I had time" I told myself, but I really knew that I didn't have any time at all. 

I ran outside slowly trying not to get to sweaty! I immediately met Ivania, the principal of the school(she also is my boyfriend's mother). I stopped running in slow motion and also stopped acting like a moron (the morning air does things to me!)! She greeted me with a hand shake and then walked toward the kitchen.

Today my Dad had given me different responsibilities for some reason. Instead of going to the creche with the two-year-olds, I went with Jamil, the dance teacher, to see what he was going to show the kids that day. He showed me a dance move that he wanted the kids to learn. It was the worm.

Dance class came and the kids were so exited, because it was the first dance class ever. Jamil announced to the kids that they were going to learn how to do the worm. Many screams and laughter came from the openings of their faces, those things called mouths. 

Sezni, my brother, obviously started lying on the ground face down and only moved his bottom up so that he looked like a big slug and it was hysterical! He started laughing and said "look! I'm a SLUG!!!" And he really was. I LOVE THAT KID!

Cedro Galan Public School Drive

POST by JED: Capital on the Edge, a House of Healing...

9am and the only students in class are Rafael (our son), Billy (our foster son), Brian (a kid living with us) and Oliver (Brian's brother, who also lives with us). "Golly-gosh, they sure are a p-time culture..." I ponder.

The kids arrive in dribs and drabs but within half an hour the classroom (our patio) swells from 4 students to nearly 40. Things are running like clockwork. (but on a very, VERY malfunctioning clock) :"We have no fruit and we need salt" the cook commands. "Oh good, thanks for leaving that until I am in the middle of class to let me know.

There are a few kinks in this well oiled machine, but there are also mountains of love and the commitment trail never ends...

I fly off on my moto with such force that my clothes are nearly left behind. I swerve, I accelerate, I am Brien, Jed Brien - licensed to thrill!

"Yes please, 80 bananas and 40 oranges..." The locals think I'm nuts but they love the business so that keeps them laughing along and chatting incessantly about how wondrous we are and how there should be more people like us in this World... Blah, blah, blah, blah "Yes, we'll keep buying fruit and car oil from you..."

As I return home, and I'm approaching the gate, I see Alondra's Mum walking along the road. I cannot make out her face, but I recognise the walk. Alondra's Mum is tough, but then she has to be with the conditions she is subjected to.

When she enrolled Alondra in our school, she was happy to volunteer her services as a bike mechanic. She was willing and able to fix my moto. How many women can do that in high heels and pink lippy?

I cannot wait to greet her because I have a class to attend to. Our guard, Yader, opens the gate. I fly through the porton, my wheels barely touching the ground and leaving Yader in a swirling, whirling cloud of dust.

I'm happily singing along with my students when I notice Ivania, the school's director, rounding the bend with a concerned look upon her face. She's a magnificent woman, Ivania, but I cannot get her to put the cleaning products/implements down.

She's a servant hearted woman and I couldn't do what I do without her firm support.

She comes over and whispers something in my ear. Of course I don't have the greatest grasp on the Spanish language when spoken loudly, let alone at a level that spits out the harshest parts of each syllable. "Oooooof course" I say, not understanding a word of what she has said, but understanding that I need to follow her to wherever she is going.

"Valeria, cantar en Espanol por favor" I say to the Spanish teacher. She faithfully steps in.

I am trying to have Ivania explain herself a second time when, as we walk along, I look up to see Alondra's Mum crying. She is sitting on our old concrete park bench  with a hanky held to her nose.

"Oh boy" I think to myself. "This is awkward. Something's happened, what could it be? I should maintain a professional distance as there are lots of eyes on me at present." I fling my arms around the sobbing woman and she places her head on my shoulder. She cries like a baby for several minutes.

I sit there thinking "What, what, what, what, what..." When she finally finishes crying she gives me a big squeeze, like I'm the one who's being comforted. She sits up straight. Her posture commands respect, this, the woman who lives in a 4m x 4m hut featuring dirt floor.

She takes a deep breath, looking like a professional at a multinational about to direct a board meeting. She is strong, she is woman. She again throws her arms around me and cries for a long, looooooooooong while.   

The time arrives, once again, when Alondra's Mum finishes crying and sits up straight. This time she doesn't look as strong. Her eyes are now bloodshot, her cheeks are stained with tears, the hair around her face is damp and messy, her figure looks deflated.  

"Cual es tu problema?" I enquire. She tells me the story of Alondra. At two years old Alondra has always been beautiful, healthy, and strong. I must admit, I'd usually think to myself "yes, yes, please go on...", whilst not really believing. However, in this instance I knew what she was saying was true.

I have met Alondra before. In the first days of our school's operations, she was the only 2 year old who cried when leaving our house, and not the other way around. (whilst our house is like Disneyland for the kids of our poor barrio, we operate as a school, and the children have to say "adios" to mum and dad for the day. Initially, they're a wee bit nervous...)

Yet the other night Alondra was rushed to hospital. Her condition was critical. There was a blockage to her heart, restricting the flow of blood. She was being held in intensive care. The doctors were not able to operate as they did not have experience with this type of problem, and the condition was even more precarious because of Alondra's young age.

A specialist would be needed. This would cost money. Alondra's mother had $80 saved (equivalently  a month's wage), but the surgery would cost $180. Alondra's mum had begged family members but was not able to raise the required fee.

Alondra's mum turned to the only option available to her, Capital Edge Community Centre.

Now whilst we have full enrolment and things are humming along nicely, it has been a difficult road to traverse. I have to tell you that every kind of malicious rumour has been spread around the community by several of the local schools.(There are other schools in the area, some work with Compassion, an aide agency. One school is public, whilst the other schools are Catholic, Seventh Day Adventist, Baptist, Pentecostal, etc.)

Alondra's mother has been very supportive of Capital on the Edge, speaking out publicly about the rumours which have spread like wild fire throughout the countryside. Rumours include that we're narco's, we are a hub for child trafficking, we prostitute children, and other rumours, some of which are even worse than those just mentioned.

Alondra's mother initially enrolled her eldest daughter in our school, but took her out at the insistence of her husband. She later re-enrolled her daughter, stating that she didn't care what her husband thought, but several days later Alondra's older sister stopped attending the school. That was the last I'd seen of Alondra's mother until this day.

There was no embarrassment to be found in her eyes. The woman was clearly distraught. She hadn't defamed me and there was no shame in coming to us for assistance.

She looked me dead in the eyes and asked in Spanish "Will you please help me?" My response? "Of course we will!" More hugs and more tears. Alondra's mother was still deeply concerned by her daughter's condition, but comfortable with the fact that she had done all that was possible. We said a prayer and she went on her way.

Later that day I went and visited Alondra. We took fruit and pastries for the parents, who seemed to be very shocked by this gesture. (so shocked, I don't think they'd ever eaten pastries in their lives)

Our team had prayed for her, we were believing for a full recovery. I had shared this prayer request on the World Wide Web, people from around the World were praying.

Alondra seemed unbelievably strong and alert, though her condition was still critical.

The day of the surgery arrived. I went in with Alondra's mother and our youth pastor, Eduardo, to visit Alondra, pray for her and pay the bill for the surgery. However, something remarkable had happened. Before surgery the specialist had run some tests on Alondra's heart and it appeared that the blockage had been completely dissolved!

It took several days and many tests, but Alondra had been completely healed and her release from hospital, with a clean bill of health, was the best news we've heard in a long time.

Alondra's mother keeps brining us gifts. (eggs, nuts, coffee, anything she can get her hands on) She is extremely grateful. She wants it to be known to the World how grateful she is for the prayers offered for her adorable baby-girl, Alondra.

News of the healing has spread throughout our community and there is a general respect for our efforts amongst the people. Through our payment of bills, small gifts, prayer and friendship, we have proved ourselves faithful to our harshest critics. Alondra's dad has even spoken openly about the awesome power of God. He is teary when he talks about the love of this divine being.

God wants a relationship with everyone of us. Ultimately, he is our father. We cannot fathom the why's of this World, but when we turn to Jesus he brings us a comfort, healing and the deepest sense of peace.

After these events transpired we have become  a sort of healing house, or halfway clinic. We have several more prayer requests for you:

Fabiola

I am deeply moved by Fabiola's condition. She lives just a 2 minute walk from our house. The other day I was walking by her house and her parents called me in.

I asked them why her eyes were darting back-and-forth like she was experiencing some kind of seizure. They said her eyes spasm because she needs glasses. "Why haven't you gotten her some?" Their response - they simply can't afford the testing and cost of spectacles.

Praise God we are able to help in this small way and create a World of difference to darling Fabiola...

Luisita

This sweetheart is in our school and her condition is treatable. Luisita suffers from chronic malnutrition. Whilst Luisita seems to be of normal height, her weight is worryingly low. She is the weight of a 2-year-old.

I love Luisita, she is a very bright button. However, her face is gaunt, her hair is falling out, and unless we act fast, her growth will be stunted, in addition to other physical side-effects.

Thanks Lord for an opportunity to show your love for this little dear.

Arturo (name changed for privacy)

This dude needs help. He is a true champion and won an award at our Fiesta Fabulosa for having the best attitude. Well, the other day something snapped inside of him and he went on a Columbine style rampage. He was hitting and kicking everyone. I was in another class but saw him being whisked away by his older sister.

After Arturo left the school, everyone was talking and nobody had answers. Nobody knew what triggered the incident and nobody could coherently retell the sequence of events.

I went to Arturo's house to enquire. Arturo screamed at me and his mother laughed. "He has a demon", she said. "Oh, right..." I didn't know what to say. I explained that his departure in such a state was to never happen again, and that we needed to resolve any issues before leaving school for the day. She agreed.

I asked her to visit the next day whilst her son attended school, she said that she would.

One sleep later and there was no Arturo to be seen. He wasn't going to come. I had Valeria take-over the class at 10am and went to visit Arturo. The little champion was already clinging to the bed, screaming at everyone who looked on. (mother, grandmother and myself)

I explained that everything was going to be okay, but that we needed to keep with routine and he needed to come to school so that the situation wouldn't escalate, eventually resulting in Arturo dropping out. The mother agreed. She was giggling the entire time. (I began to wonder if someone in the room really was possessed with demons, but no, my thought was that it probably wasn't Arturo)

She pulled Arturo from the bedpost and started screaming at him. Suddenly, she had a belt in her hand and was whipping him with it, all-the-while laughing to herself. (possibly nerves I'm guessing) If that wasn't enough, gran came over and starting slapping him too.

I didn't know what to do. I asked them to stop. I pried Arturo from their arms and insisted that they stay in their house as they clearly needed a "day off".

I held Arturo tight as he bit me. Blood gushed from my arm. At that moment I could have joined mum and gran but thought better of it. I bent over to look at my arm and at that exact moment Arturo flung around and CRACK!

I felt like I had fainted for a moment and then come to quickly. The sensation made very real the moments in movies when the tough guy receives a right hook to the face - he quickly shakes his head as his vision slowly returns and his eyes centre. I instantly felt nauseous. Arturo had head butted me.

"Oh, he sure is a spirited young chap!" I called out in English. I held Arturo out in front of me and received a kick to no-mans-land... Ouch!!! I was nearly in tears. (ummm... No, I was in tears...)

I turned Arturo horizontally, with his body facing forwards and my arms carrying him around his waist and shoulders. He was stuck. He screamed and cried. I arrived back to the school within seconds for I was on a mission.

Looooooooooooooooong story short, normality resumed within minutes. Even still, we do need to get this boy tested. I do believe he has Aspergers Syndrome and hence I will be able to purchase the necessary medicines and give him a routine that he can work within.

Prayer is needed for this fantastic little fella, a real trooper who will one day be fighting for the cause of Jesus Christ, and my bruises and scars will be testament to the distance he has come for the glory of God.

POST by LIZ: Dirty Frustrations

We have a pool.  A rather big pool, which we have tested and now know it can hold up to 152 bodies – although, I should note with these numbers; swimming, moving and breathing are prohibited.   

I´m not merely bragging, pulling out the AOG prosperity teaching, nor trying to justify having such a beautiful luxury; I truly believe God has blessed us with this pool, house, and grounds big enough for five ponies, so we can use it to establish a solid relationship with our community and let His glory be known. 

Tuesdays through Fridays are known as “Community Pool Time at the Briens”.  Apart from building a solid rapport with this rural, economically-challenged community, we have two recognisable agendas: to teach them how to swim, and to share Jesus´ amazing, life-changing truth.  

Last year, many Nicaraguans drowned due to the infamous, torrential rains that annually occur during invierno, the months of May through to October.   Out of the statistics, one teenage girl on the list belonged to the beloved Cook at NCA, the school I currently serve at.  

While this girl was walking home from school she became the victim of deadly flash flooding.  She was swept away by the rolling waters that consumed Nicaragua´s dirty, inadequately drained roads. Her drowned body was found meters from her house. It was devastating.

I dread the rainy season. Our interchangeable roads become a death, sea-like rollercoaster ride containing strong currents that devour anything in their path.

By opening up our pool twice a week, we hope to save lives physically and spiritually…but I digress… this was not why I am sitting in my pjs pounding the keyboard – and I seriously have to pound the spaces a, q and x. These keys are missing the leveled, perfectly smooth plastic which regular computer users take for granted. My computer´s keyboard symbolically represents Nicaragua´s inconsistent, bumpy, potholed, dusty roads. Quite honestly, q and x don´t bother me too much, but a is a different story. This precious vowel is chief to others! (did you notice the irony here: I didn´t use the “precious” a in my elaborate description of the letter! – but in all seriousness: all appreciate you, a. - okay so I didn´t quite complete full alliteration but who cares!)

The point of my blog is to share with you about our pool frustrations.  Currently, the only fit description for our pool is to say it makes a swamp in deepest, darkest Africa appear to be a crystal-clear haven in comparison. 

Now before you start wagging your finger at me and telling me how to best care for a pool - this is not due to our neglect! Every week, we pay a man to clean it and care for it.

This morning, while the birds napped, I tip-toed across the “white” tiles that crudely displayed evidence to support my claims that Jed is not a fine-detailed person – particularly during our Friday Youth nights – the lack of “white” allowed reality to sink in as it exposed the hard core truth that we do indeed have seven kids, two dogs, three puppies, one kitten, and that Jed had a truck load of people over last night while I was working overtime at the school.

I tiptoed my way out of the house; partly to let sleeping peeps be, and partly to avoid my feet from stepping in something I might regret.  After successfully crossing the minefield, I opened the outside gate to welcome the guy that cleans our pool.  Now, let me interrupt here and save myself from any long winded defamation trail; I shall refer to the man who cleans the pool as “the pool man”. 

“The pool man” (Okay I´ll ditch the italics and “quotation marks”) and I conducted our normal Saturday morning exchanges, “Hola” I said in a voice that could mirror Marg Simpson´s sisters voices.  

“Hola” he replied, followed by a brief nod of this red cap.  He walked through the gate and routinely turned to the left.

But today I didn´t merely shut the gate and fall into normal routine – him to the pool, me to my casa. Today was different. Today I broke tradition. Today I followed him. 

“Como estas?” I chirped, making small talk. 

He twitched. 

Then in my broken Spanish I attempted to address the issue. 

Now, I know I butcher the Spanish language, so, I´m guessing I sounded a little like this:

“Me pool-o – dirty-o – very dirty-0” 

“Si” he muffled, his cap hiding his eyes. 

“Si – much-o dirty-o – it´s a problem-0”

“Pues, I only come twice a week and you use your pool too much,”    

 “Si, siiiii,” jajaja I fake laughed “we like-a to use-a our pool-o, pero, (which I think my warped-by-aussies-and-yankies British accent sounds more like I´m saying perro) me think-o it need-o much-o chem-i-os”

He stopped and slowly nodded in the form of a yes, but yet it strangely felt that he was quietly sending me subliminal messages, telling me to simply stop whatever I was doing and fall back into our normal routine: him to the pool, me to mi casa. 

But I didn´t. I ignored the awkward shuffles he made on the patchy-grassed, parched lawn; instead, I pursued the issue of the heavy green, slimy wetlands just yards before us.  With my eyes fixed on the everglade, I suggested we add more chemicals daily instead of the usual “dumping” we assumed took place twice a week. 


 

He sniffed and wrinkled his nose as he slightly raised the blue pool scoop he was holding in his left hand. 

It suddenly dawned on me that that was the only thing he had with him.  No bag, no box, no bulging side pockets full of powdered chlorine, no bottle of acid – just a short, plastic blue net.   I suddenly had a flash back to when Jed was bragging about how “our pool never smelt of chlorine” 

Not one to shy away from conflict, I probed, “Entonces, how many chemicals will you put in the pool?” Suddenly my Spanish was perfect!

“enuff” he coughed, while shifting his net from one hand to the other.  “Okay, then…” he said starting to walk with the only tool he brought with him.

“Um, Yes, okay” I said, and without allowing a breath, I blocked his path by asking, “Can you show me what chemicals you´ll add today then?”

“oh, sure…” his voice trailed off as he attempted to side-step me. “..Wedn….Wednesday, I´ll show you…Wednesday,”

 

“Wednesday! Oh, I´ll be at work Wednesday, sooooo yes, I was wondering what chemicals you´ll be adding today to the pool,” (I flashed him a quick patronising smile as we both knew it was not worthy to be called such a name) … then to cut the awkwardness of the situation, I attempt a laugh and said, “The pool sure needs them.” In my feeble attempt of trying to sound like I have an I-don´t-care-but-do-care type of attitude.

At first he tried to ignore my less-than-subtle request, but when he realised I was not yielding, he slowly rubbed the back of his head, which knocked his cap off and revealed a fuzzeled look to his brow.

His darting eyes said it all. “Well… er, um, ….. it errrr doesn’t need any chemicals today…” but his voice went horse when his eyes, which were desperately avoiding mine, locked on to the water swirling bog.

Finally, he admitted, “The chemicals didn´t come with me today…I am just going to pull out the leaves today…Wednesday, I´ll put chemicals in Wednesday…” he hung his head and clutched on to the handle of his net.

Maybe it was due to the lack of white in my floor tiles, maybe it was due to the late night of getting ready to close third quarter grades, maybe it was due to the recent trips to the grubby local hospital having to stitch up chins and toes. Who knows what triggered it, but I was not happy and I had no qualms in showing the pool man this upset.

I ranted on and on about how we pay good money to have the pool taken care of, and how I knew the pool traffic was perhaps different than a typical family with a pool might allow, but this was unacceptable and he was not fulfilling his duties. I explained that if I wanted someone to simply pull out the leaves I´d get my kids to do that – while I sipped from my coconut drink… oh, I talked up a storm about why it is imperative that he always puts chemicals in the pool.     

He admitted that he didn´t have the chemicals for my pool today, as someone else had them.  He then promised he´d come back later in the day with them.

So now I sit, and write this blog as I wait for his return to fill my senses with the smell of chlorine.

Eduardo Says Thankyou!

Our First Fiesta Fabulosa

Alondra Receives Healing

AOG Engage Team, Our Regular Dose of Awesomeness

POST by SEZ: Me & Mumsy...

On Friday my mum took me to school, where she works. I was on the computer and I played commando three. It's a missions game. I mission completed levels one, two, and three.

When my mum's class was here they said  "hi Sezni",  and I said "hi students". When they were finished with their test they went to break and me and my mum had a snack. I had rojita, which is a red fizzy drink, and a hamburger.

When break was over, there were three students that wanted to play commando three. I had to turn off commando three and the crazy students went to work. Then after fifty minutes past, they asked my mum "Can we play commando three?"And mum said "no."

When school was over dad picked us up and we went home. "Bye class" I said. "Goodbye Sez" they replied.                 

That day was so much fun because I saw my friends.

POST by RENZY: Horses, Bikes and Chains

Brave Boy Oliver



 

Last Monday, we went to one of my best friend's house. Her name is Grace and she is really tall and has red hair. We go to her house a lot. Yader, Francesca, Sezni, and I went on our horses. The other kids and my parents went in the car(how boring).

We left after them because Yader had to get all the four horses saddled up and ready to go. Naturally, when he had finished that, he had to take a shower, put gel in his hair, brush his teeth, get dressed in the cleanest clothes he could find, and last but not least put perfume on.

He says he has five perfumes and he says he needs to buy another one so that he has six. Who knows why, he is just weird like that. We all say that he is fresa because he smells good and always has to look like he is going to an interview with the president.

Fresa means strawberry, so it would be sort of like calling him a person that is sort of like a girly girl, except in a boy version.

When we finally got to their house we ate food because we were hungry and it was dinner time. We had rice and a stew type of thing. It was really good because everything that you eat at her house that they cook is good.

After eating we had a cake and that was good too. Then we went outside, listened to music and played volleyball. Once we were finished playing volleyball we started to play a game where someone had to try to take the ball off of who ever had it and the most fun part was that you could tackle.  :)

We were having so much fun but Francesca and Grace got tired and went to sit on the trampoline to rest and listen to music. The rest of us kept on playing but once we got bored we played volleyball again. It was fun but we do not really know how to play good, but then - who cares.

The little kids were having races around the house on bikes. All of a sudden, Grace heard someone crying but she thought that it was Harrison. (Their next door neighbor's son.) Then she knew that that was not how he cry's and said to Francesca "Do you here someone crying?"

Once she listened to the cry she knew it was Oliver and they both went running to where they heard the crying. They found Oliver tangled in the bike and ran to get our parents.

The people that were playing volley ball stopped playing and ran to where all the commotion was going on. We thought that the horses had ran off so we went to go see. It turns out that the horses did not escape and that Oliver had his big toe stuck in between the chain and the rusty, metal, spiky thing.

This is Brien - Oliver's real brother

He was screaming his head off and he kept on calling for Brian. Brian was busy holding the light so that they could get his foot out and see what the damage was with his toe.

Grace's guard was helping us to try get his toe out and he pulled on the chain but that made it worst and he started crying more, and harder.

My mum was holding Oliver and she could not take it any more so she told my Dad to take the flashlight so that Brian could go to him and hug him. Brian is Oliver's brother and a good one at that!

Once they finally got his toe out, the adults went inside and washed it. They told us kids to go outside and play whilst they examined his toes. He had two cuts, and at first they thought that they did not need to go to the hospital but then they really examined it and Grace's Mum, Jen, said maybe he does have to have a few stitches.

My parents told us to get the horses ready and to go straight home. They got in the car and went home.

My dad went to the hospital with Oliver's dad and dropped the rest of the family off at home. They were gone for four hours and when they got home they had medicine for him and Oliver was sitting on the couch like nothing HUGE had happened.

The thing that makes me laugh is that he is walking, running, climbing, jumping, and riding Billy's bike. If you just saw him you wouldn't think that he would have had anything happen to him. He is so funny.