Read more: How to Add Meta Tags to a Blogger Blog | eHow.com http://www.ehow.com/how_4432068_add-meta-tags-blogger-blog.html#ixzz1dedpEYPR - Capital on the Edge -: February 2013

Thursday, February 28, 2013

Education: Nicaragua asks Cuba to Help Revamp Education

“The textbooks are embarrassing... They present a story where everything the Sandinistas did was good and everything everyone else did was bad. It’s not history; it’s indoctrination of eight- and nine-year-olds.

CLICK here to read article

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

POST by SHANE: Growing Up Brien (Part One - Visiting the Edge)



The Brien Family in 2006
 He looked strangely out of place as he traipsed past us in a spring jacket and maroon leather pants. It was January and 15 degrees Fahrenheit outside in upstate New York (that’s negative 9 in Celsius for those of you not still hanging on to old habits like we in the U.S.). It was also 9:00 AM on a Sunday morning. Our apartment complex housed many college students and he was obviously one of them.

It did strike me odd, though, and I remember wondering aloud to Jenny (my wife) if he was going to church. About three hours later I felt pretty terrible because not only had he been on the way to church, he had been on the way to OUR church, and we’d let him freeze as we drove past. This was my first experience with a Brien.

The Brien children travelling...
 
Despite the presumed hypothermia and frostbitten fingers that day, we did still somehow become friends shortly thereafter and with many trips around the globe since (mostly by the Briens), we’ve stayed that way.

Briens/Seaburgs at Taughannock Falls, New York
Briens/Seaburgs in the Blue Mountains, New South Wales

In the winter of 2001 Jed and Elizabeth Brien were both 24 years old. Meanwhile, their eldest daughter Francesca had just turned 3, and baby sister, Lorenzy, was only 8 months old. As a friend, it has been a joy to see their children grow, but also to see the entire family answer the call placed on their lives by God.

The Brien children: Rafael, Francesca, Lorenzy-Ella & Sezni
In the 12 years I’ve known the Brien family, I’ve observed with great interest and more than a small measure of curiosity as they’ve spent countless hours of time and energy on friends, acquaintances, and strangers with little thought for their own emotional or physical well-being. 

Lizzie in July Party (because Lizzie's birthday is Christmas Day)
During that period, their living room has been a revolving door to whatever community they’ve made their home. In the earliest days of our friendship, when both families were so poor we qualified for an American government program called WIC (free food for lower class families with young children), they were already donating to missions while we were still struggling to part with the money that went into the church offering basket. 

Project Runway in Mexico - the Brien Family (Trashy)

 When given the opportunity, they’ve continually chosen connections with people over tangible ownership of property. I have watched from near and far as their children have given or sold away the vast majority of their earthly possessions 4 separate times. So, when the day finally came that they announced they would be moving to the mission field full-time, I wasn’t surprised. Their life is the Great Commission (Matthew 28: 19-20) and they’ve been missionaries for as long as I’ve known them.

The Brien Family in Mexico
The Brien Family in Mexico

In Nicaragua, they’ve plopped themselves down into the thick of a poor barrio outside the city of Managua called Cedro Galan. Presently, their ministry there is three-pronged. 


First, they are sharing their home with a group of 8 young men between the ages of 15 and 20 who are being schooled so they can earn the equivalent of a high school diploma and trained to be part of the “Nicavangelist” group that will soon be dancing and tricking through churches across the United States.
Each of them has made a commitment to Christ and is being discipled, but as you can imagine, having 8 young men living in your guesthouse together can present a unique set of challenges.

Capital on the Edge boys: Yordy, Stivey, Beycker, Rene, Jonny, Ericson, Eliazer & Yader
Second, they run what I think most closely resembles a Pre-K school 5 days a week. There, children between the ages of 2 and 6 are taught stories from the Bible, basic reading and writing skills as well as being given an introduction to English.

Capital Edge Community School

Finally, every Wednesday and Friday night they “officially” open up their house to members of the community. There’s a swimming pool, basketball, soccer, a ping-pong table, checkers, and a pool table available to all-comers. On Fridays, worship songs and a short message are added to the games.

Capital Edge Community Center

 It used to be that Jed and Liz’s ministry was a partnership, but these days it’s a more of a family endeavor.

Francesca and Lorenzy both speak Spanish more fluently than their parents, so they are regularly used as translators for the people of the center and around the barrio. Additionally, they are both learning dance and taking part in the “Nicavangelist” training. I’ve witnessed them reach out to others in much the same way their mom and dad do. They are equally comfortable talking to other teenagers as well as adults. It’s an impressive sight as 12 and 15 year old girls handle such big tasks with a maturity beyond their years.

Francesca translating at Church

Meanwhile, no one is more helpful when tackling handy-man projects around the house than 10 year-old Sezni, always smiling and pleased to provide a tool when needed. 8 year-old Raffy is generally quieter than his siblings, but more times than I can count, I caught him whispering a translation while everyone else was still trying to figure out what had been said. I also noticed he is uniquely talented at understanding what Billy says (their 4-year old adopted Nicaraguan son who speaks an elusive combination of Spanglish and Masquite). They all pitch in everyday and it’s kind of beautiful to watch them work together.

Rafael pitching in with Sunday School, in El Salvador

By the way, as always, their living room is still that same revolving door. The bell at the gate begins ringing at 6 o’clock every morning and doesn’t stop until 11 or 12 each night (including weekends). A day doesn’t go by where friends and/or community members aren’t welcomed with open arms no matter the time or reason.

They daily juggle a multitude of issues and responsibilities while maintaining attitudes that are remarkably positive. While they prepare lesson plans, they have morning devotions with the boys. While they do devotions, children arrive for school. While pre-K class is in session, they manage homeschool responsibilities for their own kids. As coursework comes to an end, lunch is being prepared. As noon dishes are being washed, practice begins for the boys and on and on and on, only to be done again tomorrow.

Their work is exhausting physically and taxing mentally, but each day they gather their strength to meet what the Lord has made. I observe them as they die to self, over and over. Even though their energy level burns brighter than ever, the lines on their face remind me I’m not staring at the faces of two wide-eyed twenty-somethings any more. This isn’t a game and it’s not about having fun. More than a decade has passed since that cold January morning and my friends are at once the same as always and yet starkly different.

They’ve grown up.

Some Briens/Seaburgs in Managua, Nicaragua

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

POST by JED: Planes, Trains & Automobiles - Part 13



Jed & Liz transitting in Chicago
Our trip to the Wild West! By now we’re well and truly American. We enter the airport half-dressed in baggy clothes, carry-ons weighing double the permitted weight (saving us cash because now, amongst American airline carriers, there is an EFTPOS system attached to every part of your travelling experience: $20 per bag, $10 per snack, $2 per polite gesture from flight attendants, etc.), and not so much as a wave to our great friend Shane, who graciously drove us to the airport.

We made a smooth transition in Chicago, with only one hour on the ground. We arrived in San Francisco full of excitement and anticipating wondrous things. Our hostess? No where to be seen. But, she was to be the magical bride, and probably bore one thousand tricks on her pre-wedding to-do-list, and so we forgave her tardiness.

Of course, Liz and I separated, thinking we could, with our some 50 years of combined travelling experience, track our radiant little marshmallow gal down in this San Francisco flying world. Liz scooted back to the arrivals gate and I just sat with my friends, the baggage, down by carousel number 5.

In she flurried, our great friend Abigail Dickson. We chatted and laughed for most of the drive home, reminiscing about the good times of Mexico and listening to the many family wedding drama stories.

Liz and I eloped. We didn’t have an exceptionally beautiful wedding day with all the pomp, flair and ceremony. It’s always fascinating to watch the comedy, the tragedy, the spectacle, the glam, the ugliness, the value, the expense, the honesty, superficiality, loyalties, gossip, hard work, boredom, things being pushed up and people being put down. ‘Tis really a mixed bag of wonder and horror, all bundled up into one, hopefully not raining, day.

The very same evening we went to Enterprise Rent-a-car and got ourselves a top-of-the-line, compact car. I always find it humorous when I go to hire the cheapest, most economical car, because I’m usually offered an upgrade. This offer is nearly always at my own expense, even though it should be clear that I elected of free will to hire the cheapest, most economical vehicle. “No thanks, it’s better for the environment,” I responded. “Who’s environment? Yours?” I heard the sales associate mutter under her breath.

Jed in his beloved Compact Car

Now from the moment I arrived in Frisco, until the moment I left, I was freezing. We weren’t there in the autumn, we weren’t there in the winter, we weren’t there in the spring, WE WERE THERE IN THE SUMMER! And to my complete surprise, everywhere we went the droll of air cooling machines could be heard, rather than heating systems.  “It doesn’t take long to become accustomed to tropical weather” I decided.

The very next morning we trundled off down the freeway towards sunny San Jose. Our first appointment was at 9am, with the lead pastors of the Bethel Church. We left Nutty Creek at 7:30am, yet only just managed to make it to our appointment on time.

We walked into the church building and were instantly excited by what we saw. This house of God was pumping, with people frantically buzzing this way and that, clearly very busy with the Lord’s work and the icing on the cake? Everybody appeared to be perfectly charming – You have got to LOVE California...

We sat and waited for Pastor Allan, the head honcho. Pastor Allan had brought his wife to the meeting, and I sensed that this duo were quite the dyno-team (dynamic, not jurassic. They looked to be around 50 years old).

To date, we had only presented before Church congregations. Yet on this auspicious occasion, we were presenting to just two people in an office, but two important people of one of the largest churches in the Bay area.

Pastor Allan and his wife listened graciously half smiling as Liz and I stuttered, spoke over each other, became trapped in nonsensical, never ending monologues (having to ask them what our original point was halfway through) and generally made ourselves out to be complete loons, of Austin Power proportions.

They offered their generous thoughts, that we have a great mission and we seem to be great people, but the relationship would have to be put “on hold” until we became credentialed with the Assemblies of God in America. This was probably never going to happen, and so we accepted our fate and continued to listen to Pastor Allan, sort of zoning in and out all the while.

Pastor Allan, who I believe inherited the Church from his father (don’t you just love hearing about families who have Christianity in their blood for generation upon generation? My parents were Churched, but on one side it stopped there – who knows how far it went back on the other side… Couldn’t have been too far, seeings my family line originates from around Sydney, formerly a British penal colony), shared that his Church spends a million buckaroos on missions per year, and that they really take quite seriously the call of God to reach their world.

Of course, Liz had now fallen over backwards and had her feet sailing in the air (inappropriate behavior if you ask me, but I judge not…), whilst I furiously wiped the saliva from around my face. He continued, they had put into place a system whereby they work tirelessly on blessing and evangelising their community within a mile’s radius of their “house.”

Now I don’t know about you, but this kind of talk is exciting to me – sad that it’s revelation to some. I’ve been to stax of Churches throughout the US, many of them having a bazillion missionaries or more. In most instances people are thrilled to tell you about all of the missionaries they support. However when you ask for some of the missionaries’ names, and in which countries these people labour, the person you’ve been talking to often scrambles and scratches, only perhaps remembering one missionary’s name, in perhaps the incorrect country where another unnamed missionary works.

It also got me to thinking about what we do. For many of the missionaries we know in Nicaragua, they have offices, and important roles, they have workers and meetings. But it seems, very often, that communities are compartmentalised into “this program” or that “group,” with responsibility for reaching the lost being catergorised away into some non-existent, imaginary filing cabinet.

It’s rare to meet a work that’s going for every person they come into contact with, around their house, from the supermarket clerk, to the plumber, to the people alongside in Church. “Ooooh, that nutbag-loco-amigo Jed? Yeah, I go to youth group at his house on Friday nights.” These are the sorts of feedback we’ve received from friends after conversing with moto-taxi drivers somewhere between Managua and our house. Not a moment to brag, but a very real example of making every day moments count for the Kingdom.

And in an American urban context, that’s precisely what the Bethel Church does – they care, practically, about everyone in their community, from kids and their school needs, to bikers and their brass bits needing repair, to Dad and Mum who want to get rid of their spring cleaning junk. They’re after one, EVERY one in their community.

Isn’t that what Church is about? God centered community? God centered love? So that together we can reach the World with something we already have?

Well, I stuffed my half eaten muffin into my pocket and we did our don’t call us, we’ll call you handshake, ear-tug and nose tap routine, then flew out the door with tremendous speed like we were actually important people going somewhere.

Of course, once out of their office and having landed down the stairs in a gigantic heap in the company of “only” reception people and cleaning staff, the charade was over and we were able to be ourselves again. We asked in cockney, not queen’s English for directions to the lavatories and joked about our foolish faux-pas.

We danced around the building like kids having had too much red cordial and then crammed our elbows back into our pockets, with feet up our noses, so that we could fit into our environmentally friendly vehicle. That clean air you’re breathing, it’s BECAUSE OF US!!!

Californian roads are a lot like Canberra roads, and so I should never be surprised but I always am… Circles. Round-abouts. Bridges that go over without exit or entry! It can be very frustrating for us aliens. However, thank Heavens for Satellite Navigation! You barely need to drive. Barely, of course, unless you’ve thrown the equipment out the window on account of the irritating, condescending voice that tells you things already painfully obvious like “you’re going the wrong way.”

Of course we arrived on time, with just minutes to spare, and Liz confessed she needed a few moments to reapply her make-up after our very tense transition from the beach and bay clad climate of casual San Jose, to the East Bay valley city of hob-nobbing-it Alamo.

We didn’t want to be prideful or showy about our punctuality (we’re actually NEVER on-time, so it was a weird feeling for us to not be driving up curbs or talking heatedly to other cars, etc.), it’s just not in our nature to push ourselves forward, and so we sat in the car waiting until about 5 minutes before our scheduled appointment – is that what punctual people do?

We exited the car with the style and glam of two model-like celebrities (not even dislodging any bones from their sockets on account of our compact car) and almost skipped and twirled in the heatless sun on approach to the mirrored front doors of the building.

“It says ‘push’ Liz” I giggled a tad too humouredly after watching Liz almost kiss her own reflection on account of a stubborn door not pulling towards her. I pushed the door and nearly knocked myself into unconsciousness due to my head butting the door, and HARD. “The sign says ‘closed’ Jed” Liz laughed as I swiped away little tweety birds and stars which encircled my head.  

We both peered through the mirrored wall, trying not to cause suction between our lips and the glass, and nearly had the fright of our lives when we noticed a delightful looking little cleaning lady on the other side, who was gesturing wildly towards a service schedule sign. I dare say she was a little nervous/shaken too on account of such stylish yet suicidal, aggressive but punctual Australian/European types making complete fools of themselves on the “outside.” 

The bump must have cured my amnesia because in that very moment I remembered that Pastor Gary had told me the Church offices were actually not in the Church building, rather in the beautiful, historic town of San Ramon. “Where?” I wondered… “Where, where, where, where, WHERE???” 

Lizzie lost in San Francisco

Liz ran to the car, looking a tad bewildered and not at all glamerous anymore, retrieving the all-important diary. AHA! She had entered the address into her diary and how very clever of her! She would never let me live this down. We zipped along in the car, and upon remembering that Americans drive on the right hand side of the road, merged alongside cars who were progressing in the same direction – how orderly, how American!

After speaking with a petrol station console operator, who didn’t speak even a lick of English, and after chasing down an old lady in a motorised wheel chair and stopping a homeless drunk who was pilfering through old food wrappers in a rubbish bin, we finally found our way to New Life Church, and only ended up being nearly half an hour late. But boy was it worth it! The business park was very ooh-lah-lah, and Pastor Gary, what a handsome, kind, generous fellow (reminded me of my favourite pastor in New York, Pastor Mark)…

Pastor Gary reeked of love, like he’d been stewing in some kind of Jesus sauté sauce or something equally delicious. He was also extremely cool, handing me an envelope like a dude and looking as though he was about to jump over the hood of his car, Dukes of Hazard style.

We were going somewhere… In Pastor Gary’s car. “What do you feel like eating?” Pastor Gary asked whimsically, flashing his warm Californian smile at us, whilst simultaneously dressing his face with some snazzy sunnies.

We arrived at our gourmet diner in the nick of speed. Liz and I had been so conscious of our q’s and p’s we’d almost forgotten who we were. Pastor Gary had mentioned in our car ride over that the video link we’d sent him had shown something unique, something different, something laid back. Our video link was hardly a production, just a mish-mash of everything we do, all from a budget point-and-shoot, mixed together over the course of an evening with some gallo pinto and old episodes of Frasier – but it was us, it represented who we are.

Pastor Gary had open body language, asked great questions. He laughed at everything we said, even when we weren’t joking. But unfortunately we just couldn’t relax. We were here for the sale, going in for the kill, taking no prisoners! We knew who we needed to be, in spite of who we actually are and who Pastor Gary wanted to meet with (I knew he wanted the real us, but Liz and I just struggled to relax). We felt we needed to present a certain image to Pastor Gary, an American image, something wholesome, good, a vision he could lay before his board.

We ate our lunch and began to relax. Pastor Gary shared with passion the story of his Church and his plans for missions. He invited us to share in April of the following year, with the people of his Church, our story and our ministry in Nicaragua. Our meeting with Pastor Gary was simply phenomenal – he’s a TOP bloke and I cannot wait to see where God takes our friendship.

God wants us to be who HE created us to be, all the time, with everyone we’re with, and pooh to those who don’t like us. If you’re feeling judged and misunderstood, then perhaps you’ve done something wrong, or made a mistake – or, perhaps your “judge” (other people) has taken issue with your design…

One requires an apology, the other is not your problem. As has been said in Australia, “build a bridge and get over it…” There’s just NOT enough time to waste on people who don’t see in you what God has always planned to be there… Run into the arms of those who love you, leave behind the naysayers, meanies and cynics, however nice they may appear to be…