POST by JED: The Filthy, Smelly, Homeless Drunk Kid

Church was amazing tonight. Our car arrived, packed-to-the-goog with 7 kids, darling Jocasta (our out of this world new volunteer), water containers and a sense of purpose, into the parking lot. (Which now regularly contains 2 cars, ours and the pastor's...) 

Our entrance into the Church resembled more of a freak show's on parade line-up of characters, than a bunch of would-be World changers.

I led the procession, and was immediately followed up by Fran. Our beautiful first born daughter was sporting a sun ravaged look, complete with the ol' hair akin to haystack. This "look" was caused by today's Pentecostal Church service at our house, which lasted from 6am until 4pm, and consisted of hours of praise and worship, teaching, baptisms and social time.

Franny was dressed a little too Western/casually for this rural Nica Church, but that's when Aussies can ALWAYS chime in with "oh, that's how we do it in Australia". Where as we should really say, "I'm an Aussie, so therefore I can..."

Renzy, our magnificent number two, promenaded into the building and was quite the contrast to Fran. Her hair was not dry, in fact, it was still soaking wet. (from showering) Lorenzy was covered from head-to-toe with flowing fabric and all the modern classy accessories.

Renzy is a no-nonsense type, and doesn't overtly show her happiness like the rest of us Briens. She is quietly content, whilst persistently opportune to watching the rest of us make complete idiots of ourselves. Unfortunately, for her, this often results in a lack of partaking and hence, the poor darling, at times loses out on the hilarity of life. That's my way of saying "she wasn't smiling, but she was happy..."

I surveyed the scene and noted that Rafael was putting his shoes on, from atop the car's bonnet.

Sezni was, for the first time in his life, the most appropriately dressed, BUT adorned with a belt built for the Guinness Book of World Record's fattest man.

Brian was comparable to Sez, however had no belt on at all, and like many Nica's was suitably festooned with plumbers' attire. (or lack/crack thereof)

Oliver was without shoes. (I'd asked him no less than 6 million times to find his shoes and had even looked with him for several minutes)

Billy was filthy - He had been in the pool when I'd requested his presence in the car. He'd simply collected any clothes he could find from the back door, to the front and hence was wearing his own underpants, Brian's shorts, Lorenzy's hat and Rafael's shoes.

The pastor was thunderous. He was calling on God for miracles this evening. We were believing for the same. There was whooping and wailing, hollering and hooting. "Cual es Su Nombre?" (What's his name?) he'd scream out. "GLORIA" was our response. I got so into it tonight I once screamed out "GLORIA" in completely the wrong moment. (The pastor was smiling, but announcing that his aunty had just died...) All heads swivelled, like game-clowns in unison at the circus, and stared at me - the Nutbag in row number 2.

In any case it was a delightful service. The pastor was enthusiastic and the people of God, members of HIS Church, engaged with Jesus, blessing His Heavenly heart.

About halfway through the service, however, my mind began to wander. I started to contemplate my blog-for-the-week, and decided I would write about the blessings of being a martyr for Christ. And whilst I know people from around the World have suffered tremendously for the cause, I myself have had a difficult year because of attacks from other Christians.  

In short, some painful words have been said. "He's raising money so that he doesn't have to work... You're an atheist pretending to be a Christian "using religion as a means to achieve your own worldly end... You claim you have the spirit of God living inside of you, I don't think God has given me enough wisdom to see it." Hurtful words, we all hear them. In my mind, I felt there was enough fodder to write a book, let alone a blog, and was ready to put pen-to-paper. (Next week? ha ha)

A clap of thunder, rather than thunderous clapping, brought me back to my little rural Nica Church. We had been without street water for a week and our well became dry two days ago. It was about to rain - I became enthused!

We left the Church in quite the opposite way we'd entered. We shook everybody's hands in a matter of moments, stacked the chairs, and then formed a bottle-neck crush at the entrance of our Church.

Now we are wanting to start a youth group band, and there is a 7th Day Adventist boy, Freddy, who is a favourite of our family, and who plays the "base". He's a bit of a trick, our Freddy. His father is 7th Day and his mother is Jehovah's Witness. The rest of his family are Baptist or Catholic. He has a lot of questions in his mind...

In any case, his father is very strict and he is probably not allowed to attend our youth nights, but he does. We love him! So I had decided to ask him if he would join our youth band. He said that I'd have to chat with his Dad. I had every intention of doing this, and drove through the spitting rain to Freddy's house.

"Dad" welcomed me with open arms and I sat and listened with keen boredom to the stories he had to tell me. I "oohed" and "aahed" in all the right places, but truth be told, I didn't understand a word he said.

Finally, when I thought he had finished a story (which very quickly became clear that he had not), I asked 7th Day Daddy if Freddy could join our youth band. But, before I got an answer I went and retrieved Francesca, my tremendous translator.

"Well", Franny translated. "In our Church we don't really play that kind of music. We don't really play music. We don't really like music. Music isn't usually very good. But if you would like Freddy in your band, then that's fine with me." I threw my arms around the Poppy and gave him a big squeeze. He wasn't expecting this bit. He's a Nica country man, they barely shake hands. It's more about whistling, spitting and smiling. He did smile at me, but out of embarrassment.

This time the lightening joined the thunder and CRACK! "We'd better race" I yelled to Fran who was already ahead of me.  Our shoes were filled with water and our clothes completely drenched. We made it back to the car in one piece, but with an assortment of odors perfuming the already sticky, sweet car.

The rain came down and the floods went up. We drove along a "street", which is actually more of a river bed. The water was already above the tyres and it had only been a few minutes. I became literally terrified but didn't let on as that would have made the kids scared. (I was only screaming "HOLD ON KIDS, I THINK WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Handled it well, wouldn't you say?)

We made it to the Sinson family's house just in time. By this time it was bucketing down!

Now the Sinson family are beautiful Baptist missionaries here in Nicaragua and our family absolutely adores them. I talked with Vaughan, the man of the house, about a multitude of issues. Vaughan is a great guy, who is a solid (no offence Vaughan) sounding board for me.

We're kind of an odd pair, but our relationship works really well (I moan and groan and he listens, supportively) and we've sort of formed, in some strange way, a sort of informal partnership.

Anyway, on this occasion I poured out my list of grievances towards these, my Christian brothers and sisters and, as per usual, Vaughan shared his opinion insightfully and gave me some great advice. Thank GOD for the SINSONS!!!

At 9:30pm, since Jocasta was dosing on the couch, we decided it was high time to hit the road. We gathered the troops and squeezed our small crowd into the car. We honked the horn, saluted our amigos, and headed out the gate.

We were singing and laughing and amusing ourselves along the steep drive away from the Sinson house, when we came upon our good friend, young Enrique. We stopped to wave and then saw that he was well-and-truly drunk. We know Enrique, because he visits our Centre every Friday night.

I turned off the engine.

I got out of the car.

I approached Enrique. He tried to look at me but his eyes kind of crossed. He half-smiled and then looked down. He was ashamed. He tried to chuckle but let out tears instead. Whilst he cried, he continuously tried to smile and because of the humiliation of this situation, he emptied his bottles of alcohol onto the ground.

I grabbed his limp arm and pulled it up. I pulled his chin up so that his tear-stained face looked at mine. "My Mum doesn't want me anymore" he said, still trying to smile but failing on every count. Tears streamed down his handsome, strong Nica-face.

I pulled his wilting body up so that he was almost standing on his wobbly feet. He was practically paralytic. Liz called out "Girls, hop in the back. Jed, put him in the car." I dragged Enrique around the back of the car to the front, opened the passenger door and placed Enrique on the seat. I looked into his eyes. He looked into mine.

Enrique's face conveyed deep sorrow, a young man void of love from his defecting family. I spoke softly to Enrique "It's okay, we're going to take care of you."

We drove home, the stench of alcohol and filth was almost unbearable for me. Whilst we were driving I began to think. Here I sit, concerned with the hurt that I have received, and the exoneration I so desperately desire, when I hold the keys to forgiveness, comfort and healing in my hands. I mean, earlier in the day I'd actually published this thought on the internet:

A life lesson from Jeddy... Sometimes, it doesn't matter how much you try, what you say, the intentions of your heart, how much you love... It will never work and you just HAVE to surrender it all back to God.

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ...

We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself. Indeed, we felt we had received the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us again. On him we have set our hope that he will continue to deliver us, as you help us by your prayers. Then many will give thanks on our behalf for the gracious favor granted us in answer to the prayers of many."

2 Corinthians 1

I mean, really... What is with that? I had become so consumed with my own restitution and validation I had forgotten to have faith in the God in whom I hope!

Truly, to be sure, I am able to receive comfort from a God who is full of compassion and mercy and I'm also able to offer that precious gift to those around me!

It's not for me... Once I have it, multiplication must occur through me to those whom God puts in my path. In this specific situation it was a road. God literally placed a young man on the road we were driving along.

When we arrived home I helped Enrique out of the car. He grabbed me and started to cry. He cried and cried and cried. He hugged me tight. I held in my arms a young man who is precious to God, but not worth anything to his own family. Just another kid spewed out onto the streets.

I pulled Enrique's arm over my shoulder and dragged him to our front door. I sat with Enrique for several moments and held him in my arms. He continued to cry until he fell asleep. (or passed out. I think it was the latter...) I dragged Enrique inside. The kids were fussing before bed time, brushing teeth and washing up. They looked at me with that "Dad, you're at it again", kind of knowing look.

I took Enrique to the couch and Liz helped him to get comfy. We took off some of his dirty clothes and bathed his body. The boy had tattoos, cuts, bruises, abrasions and bites all over his figure. He had what looked like a knife gash upon his head. Enrique started to shiver and shake.

We got a damp cloth for his head. He came to. We offered him water and food. He ate and drank like he'd never eaten before. He ate everything. The boy had been nearly starving. He tried to regain some dignity by telling us jokes. We laughed because he was laughing, but we didn't understand a ding-dang thing he was saying.

We held him in our arms as he laughed and as he cried. Enrique, a broken young fella. And so here it is... Right before us... Humanity conked out. Not functioning. Ruined. And all we have to offer is the hope of salvation, Christ who lives in us.

People may want to debate theology - it's a distraction, keep walking. Read the Bible and learn through your involvement in Church.

People may say your efforts are in vain. They're not. Christ died on the cross for crying out loud. He died. Dead. Can you imagine being a disciple at that moment? "Oh great, that's the rescue plan? You DIE on a cross??? What kind of whack-job loon are you?" If Christ dying on the cross was a plan (and might I add it was the BEST plan ever devised in the history of the UNIVERSE), then you obeying the Word of God to love your neighbour is not an action performed in vain. It is all a part of God's infallible plan to see HIS Kingdom come and HIS will be done...

God has given you a heart. Use it to serve Jesus and affect humanity. Lord, not my will, but yours be done... Lot´s of ¨dones¨ there, which we means we gotta do...