POST by SEZ: Fill My (or your) Cup & Let it Overflow

Capital on the Edge, Street Theatre Evangelism Tour of California

On Tuesday,  I was going to California. My family; my Mom, my Dad, Fran, Renz, Sez, Raf, Anna, Stivey, Becker, Rene, Yordi, Eliezer, Yada, Jonny, and Eric were going on the plane with me. 

Anna lives in the USA and the boys live in Nicaragua. My brother was born in the Estados Unidos, but my sisters and my dad are from Australia. My mom lives in England.

It took seven hours to get to LAX, we were off the plane and we took a break in Miami. 

My Dad bought sandwiches, but he didn’t have enough money for a drink for everybody.  But I saw a cup on the table and no one was using it.  I took it and I saw a soda machine with soda.  I went to the soda machine and I shared it with everyone.

It’s so easy to give of yourself when people are grateful.

POST by JED: California Dreamin (Part 2)

Flying from Managua to Miami (they boys went doo-lally with the camera)

And up jumped Eliezer. He had a wild grin from ear to ear. “Where are you going? Sit DOWN!” I implored. “The seatbelt sign, THE SEATBELT SIGN!” The boys had a lot to learn and over the next few days would be bombarded with more than they could handle.

Every item in the seatback pocket was rifled through. I giggled to myself as I noticed Rene seriously “reading” the “American Way” magazine, upside down. He was trying desperately to fit in and make a good impression. Lorenzy stared out the window. She had flown more in her lifetime, than I can recall – yet this flight was completely different. It represented BIGGER things for Lorenzy. It was kind of a one-way journey to who knows where.

Lorenzy has been changing so much over the last year. Physically, she is woman. She’s the tallest feline in our household, and is developing her own distinct sense of self. I love watching Renz – she doesn’t conform, yet isn’t rebellious. She cares deeply and then not at all. She follows, but isn’t a sheep.

This year Lorenzy will be on tour with our family and the Nicavangelists. When we’re not on the road with our Nicaraguan lads she’ll be visiting Liz’s brother, Luke (and his family), in Rochester (NY) and one of Renzy’s oldest/dearest friends in the World, Mhari Reid, in Viriginia (some place).

Yordy and Fran chatted and made jokes. Fran is ever-the-brother in this group. She’s always prepared to take a knock, or playfully make fun of the boys.

The flight attendants made their way through the cabin serving drinks. Theresa and Mary had been flying now for 24 years. Their kids had all grown up and they were enjoying all that life had to offer. No bars held. Today they each wore wigs. One was a blonde, the other a brunette. They had their inside jokes, pretend voices, naughty under-the-breath comments, everything that used to be me back at Qantas (the Spirit of Australia).

The flighties (Aussie airline speak for “flight attendant”) didn’t speak a lick of Spanish. However, the boys can understand nearly EVERYTHING in English, because ever since they were little tikes they have been bombarded with English through various forms of media (music, television, etc.). Yet still, they cannot speak English – OR choose not to, I’m undecided which.

“A drink today sir?” the cheeky flighty asked. A smile formed in the corner of Fran’s mouth.  Yordy looked at her and screwed up his nose (Nica-speak for “what?”). She looked at him and then crossed her eyes, in an attempt to make him laugh (her expression kind of sang “difficult choice but just jump in: coke, sprite, water, oj, what?”).

Fran laughed, but Yordy didn’t find it funny. He just continued staring, with his BIG Latino eyes, into a face warmly loving him. Fran’s laughter subsided and she offered him a drink. He took it, as all the boys did. They were not going to miss a beat on this trip.

On our decent into Miami the plane experienced some of the worst turbulence I’ve ever endured. The boys’ reactions varied. Rene laughed nervously. Yordy looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. Eliezer looked like he was going to cry. Jonny put his earphones in and stared out the window. Stivey started rabbiting on, a hundred words per minute. The plane bounced along the runway and there was more jubilation than at the Pope’s Inauguration. We hadn’t died after all!

We exited the aircraft and took a moment to kiss the earth, change our underwear, thank the Lord, etc. I had the boys gather around and we had ourselves a meeting.

This was to be our VERY LAST and most important reunion, to discuss the people who may or may not allow us into the USA. I told the boys that jokes were absolutely prohibited. Do not wear your cap into the hall, and especially don’t put it on when talking with the immigration official. Look people in the eyes, it’s a sign of respect and shows you’re not lying. Do not fidget. Do not lie (we had nothing to lie about). Speak in a clear tone of voice and remember who it is you’re serving. Follow all instructions and everything will be okay (I said, not really knowing for certain myself…).

We walked nervously into the immigration hall. I looked at a sign which conveyed the message that, due to budget cuts, wait times would be longer than usual. They weren’t lying. I was exhausted and wanted to crawl up into a ball and sleep – but I’m the leader and had to set a good example.

The line snake and snaked like a horrendous amphibian scene out of an Indiana Jones movie. The officials let everyone with connections through first, and then US/Canadian residents and passport holders. Finally, we were moved somewhere closer to the front, and then an immigration officer came up to me and said “YOU!” A lump formed in my throat “Yes?” I said, like a little mouse waiting to be eaten by the great BIG American python. “Please join that queue.”

My meekness nearly evolved into a type of tired rage I cannot define, as I looked at the length of the queue we were to be joining. It was MUCH longer…

After nearly two hours, we made it to the front of the line. I explained in gibberish (due to my exhaustion) to the head line-person that we were a group, travelling with minors, and we needed to go through with 3 of the 8 boys, so that we could explain the paperwork which I held for them. As if to completely ignore me, he had us spread out across 4 lines. I put up a small protest, knowing it was to be in vain. And it was…

We finally made it to the front of the very last line we’d been standing in – the immigration chap was friendly, the friendliest I’ve ever come across. I explained the details and he said it didn’t matter which line any of our people went through.

He asked to see all of my family members and requested that the other people from our party wait behind the yellow line. I went first, scanning my fingers and face and then let Lizzie take over. I zipped back to our Nica fellas and had them all move into our queue.

I asked Yordy to come forward first. Yordy isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but is fairly intuitive. My assumption was that he would tell the truth, but not carry on too much about it. He wouldn’t smile, but would be softly spoken and come across as being polite and respectful.

Yordy stood beside me and I noticed a slight change in the immigration officer’s demeanor. His Spanish wasn’t as good as mine, but he used it anyway, and with quite some force. I understand that it’s all rather psychological, and only really a game (the guy is a good guy – probably has a family and goes to Church too…), but Yordy didn’t understand, and I think he took offence. This was a good thing, because Yordy’s answers went from being 3 or 5 words long, to 1 word.

Immigration Officer:      Where are you going?

Yordy:                          California

Immigration Officer:      Why?

Yordy:                          Jesus

Well, you couldn’t argue with that. One by one they filtered through. We were in! Excited and then a little nervous. My next concern - one might run for their lives. We have really worked with the boys to make sure their attitudes are all squared away and that they are coming with us on tour to California for the love of Jesus, not for personal gain. But you can never be sure – it’s a part of our journey in faith. Trusting and believing.

As we had spent all of our money on everything to do with the trip, in terms of planning and paying for the itinerary, we arrived in Miami with just $40 cash and no spare money anywhere (credit cards, etc.) – NONE!

Our kids were starving, as were our Nica-Youths. I had told the boys that we would not be eating until midnight. It was 2pm. I realised my belly was rumbling as well. Liz pulled out the cash, which had been reserved for emergencies, and counted each bill. $40 exactly. We went to Burger King and checked out their prices. AIRPORT ROBERY! $7 - $8 per meal. There were 15 of us!

We scoured here and there, leaving all of our kids (Nicas and Briens) sitting in an eatery. We came across a Subway and asked if they could tell us their cheapest price. We could get a foot-long sandwich for a little over $5. We ordered 7. The boys didn’t like their halved sandwiches but ate them anyway. We wanted more but now were completely bankrupt. We moved through security for our next flight.

Waiting in Miami for our AA Flight to Los Angeles

 

 Our American Airlines flight from Miami to Los Angeles, aboard a Boeing 767, was a tad-more luxurious. We were given blankets and the seats were just a little comfier. I sat next to Eliezer who stared out the window from the moment he sat down, until the moment he got up again.

Jonny and Beycker had decided to “sit somewhere else.” It was hilarious to me, when the people arrived who were meant to occupy the seats they had sat in. They slunk, sheepishly back down the plane and took their places besides the ever-grinning Raffy & Sezzy.

I slept from just after take-off until our arrival in LAX. We got off the plane and crawled our way to the baggage belt. We counted all the bags and then left them in a heap. I took half of the crew to check-out the Qantas A380 double story aircraft, which was parked at the same terminal we’d arrived in. The boys couldn’t believe the size of this monster aircraft, the largest civil aviaition aircraft in the world. 

Going to check-out the Qantas A380 in LAX

I then retreated to the baggage area and collected the other half of our crew for the same show. 

Waiting for our Ride in LAX

Sitting on the ground, waiting for our ride, caused my heavy eyelids to close once again. We’d now been in transit with American Airlines for 14 hours and I hadn’t slept a wink, hadn’t even laid down, the night before.

Napping at LAX

I explained to the boys, whilst half asleep, that this would just be the halfway point of a trip if we were heading home to Australia. We’d now be boarding another aircraft for an additional 14 hour flight. They looked at me curiously, as if I just make these facts up (or possibly thinking, “so what?” I couldn’t tell which…).

Lorenzy & Ericson, waiting at LAX

I napped for a short while longer and then my brain sort of stabbed my heart – strangest feeling, I cannot describe it. Sort of like a pang of sudden fret. I jumped to my feet and noticed that Anna was on her mobile phone. “Anna, can I call someone from your phone?” I asked. Her face told the story, like “is that a trick question?” I realised in that moment the stupidity of my words and reached for my laptop.

I looked up details for the Church we were to visit, but realised I had somehow managed to erase Greeyvin’s phone number (Spanish Pastor) with a second copy of Vista Assembly’s office phone number. I gave it a ring anyway, but alas, the office was “closed.”

I had Anna try to connect her phone to the internet, as my laptop refused. She pressed this button and that, but nothing, ABSOLUTELY nothing… My technical skills are about as advanced as a primate’s. But low-and-behold, I looked down at my laptop, AND LAX was staring straight back up at me. I logged into good ol’ g-mail and accessed the e-mails received from my incredible friend, Pastor Greeyvin.

He answered the phone and I started to march for the outside world (which really doesn’t make sense at LAX, because of all the traffic – yet, we sometimes move via instincts, don’t we?). As I was pulling just about the MOST ridiculous face possible, trying to decipher his informative words, I saw my friend mouthing what was being spoken through the receiver in my hand. Funny thing, I always have to say, “Goodby Pastor Greeyvin!” and without a pause “G’day Pastor Greeyvin!!!”

Now I have to say, this man is a LEGEND. I didn’t know it at the time, but his love for our troupe and indeed for us too, was simply phenomenal.

We had needed to wait until our boys’ visas were approved, in order to buy our flights. Of course, the plane tickets had risen in price, making it impossible for us to fly directly into Sacramento on the day we had selected. We therefore elected to fly into Los Angeles a few days earlier than anticipated.

I wrote to hundreds of Churches within 100 miles of LAX, requesting assistance for our evangelistic outreach tour. Against all odds, I received an e-mail from Pastor Greeyvin.

This gracious man, whose AG Church is located in Vista, California, just outside of San Diego, had written to me with enthusiasm about our impending trip. We were most concerned about filling the last week of our stay in LAX, but the dates on his end wouldn’t reconcile. We hence talked about coming at the start of our trip, and although the whole shemozzle was thrown together in just a few days, everything matched perfectly.

I have to say, there are some visits that feel like we’re just going through the motions and then there is a visit with Vista Assembly. The folks you meet at this Church has the same heart: LOVE from the FATHER for EVERY PERSON! It doesn’t matter if you’re chatting about your vision with the head honcho or laughing about silly stuff with the Latino service poncho. They’re all the same, running with all they’ve got into the arms of an everlasting God, dragging their community along in the undertow.

The staff at Vista Assembly of God

Pastor Greeyvin hadn’t met us before. He didn’t even have a recommendation. He just sensed through the Spirit, that this was a God moment. We jumped into the vans that he and James had arrived in, and choofed off down the motorway to sunny San Diego (which is a complete farce. Well, sunny yes, but not hot. I had mistakenly believed that California would be an excellent first stop, due to a similar climate with Nicaragua – not true, my brain once again making a fool out of me!).

Pastor Greeyvin & Xinia of Vista Assembly of God (San Diego)

On the way “home” both Pastor Greeyvin and I spoke from our hearts. I was genuinely interested but also feigned interest (if that makes sense), because I was loopy now on account of tiredness, mas loco than I’d been in my life. I finally asked a question and then woke to a hand on my shoulder. “Wake up, we’re here… WAKE UP, WE’RE HERE!!!” We’d arrived.

Xinia, Pastor Greeyvin’s wife (both Pastor Greeyvin and Xinia are originally from Costa Rica), welcomed our troupe into their home with arms open wide. What an expression of the love of Christ! 2 people welcomed 15 people, whom they’d never met before, into their homes. They showed their love to the orphaned and abandoned, the unlovely, despised, rejected. They did what a host of Christians in Nicaragua have been unable to do, they extended themselves beyond their comfort zone, making an eternal impact on the lives of our loves…

We are now in California, to share Jesus with our World. If you would like to learn more about who our Nica-Youths are, then please visit their PAGES, “Created” tour, and "Nicavangelists." If you would like to see a video of some of our Nica-Youths, please CLICK HERE. We have no money, and need an investment from Christian people for our next evangelism tour to the Midwest. To support a Nica-Youth or make a donation, please CLICK HERE. Thanks for being a part of what God is doing in the hearts and lives of Nicaraguans. To learn more about Vista Assembly of God, please CLICK HERE.

POST by JED: California Dreamin (Part 1)

Every day, for the past MONTH, my to-do-list had contained more items than a China Town grocery store. Spin around, China man, spin around… The bottom of my to-do-list, by the same hour, had inevitably become completely composted. I was unable to decipher between what was to do, what was begun, what was completed and what didn’t matter anymore.

Need specifics? A bit on the cheeky side for asking, but I’ll indulge you. The water problem had gotten out of hand when we left for the US in July of 2012. We’d left Nicaragua shelling out $15 per month for our water consumption, and returned to bills in excess of $200 per month for the very same usage. We still don’t know why the hike in rates, and we haven’t been able to have it explained to us either. We blame the inefficiencies here, but I’m sure if we were in Australia we’d be confronted with similar daily obstacles. I’m sure of it!

We needed to collect passports, visas, organise plane tickets, practice “Created” - our street theatre production (a fancy way of saying “it’s marginally better than a Church play, but we’re nowhere near broadway”), sort the fortnightly pays for our ten local, onsite staff, pack our bags, communicate with our Californian Churches on the phone and via e-mail. The list went on (and consequently SO DO I!).

So the night before we flew out it was no wonder that our truck died. We were meant to drive the ol’ beast to the airport, but the naughty Nissan gave up on our vision. I kicked her in the brass, tut-tut-tin as I walked away. Who could we call at a time like this? We could have organised a Nicaraguan taxi driver to come and get us, but we needed 100% assurance that we’d have a vehicle, come 3:30am.

In the past we’d have called the Vinson’s, but sadly they’re now living in the USA. So instead we called our new best friends, the Kratochvils. “Hello” the lady of the house echoed happily down the telephone line. “AT WHAT TIME?” came the second, slightly less happy echo.

We worked through the night, not even stopping for a cup of tea or shortbread sweet. No time for dilly dallying, we had a plane to catch! I sat by the computer and printer, on one of our stream-line designed, plastic, Oriental Market chairs, calling Qantas every half an hour, in the hope they’d eventually get around to ticketing Francesca and Lorenzy’s plane ticket from New York to Managua.

Lizzie scurried from room-to-room, packing bags ‘n boxes, tidying bits ‘n pieces and organising this ‘n that. The Brien children randomly slept in and on whatever they could find. Every now and then they’d enter by walking on their hands through our open bedroom door, or by straddling our waist height window, clutching their chest, indiscriminately singing Broadway styled show tunes. What can I say, we’re an eccentric family.

The Nica-boys barely slept too. They were over-the-moon excited. Bboy came back with a vengeance and didn’t leave us through the night. We had all sorts of music playing, and the boys busted moves whilst snacking on day old Gallo Pinto and bits of left over loaf.

Yordy Dancing the Night AWAY!

I was almost ready when our valiant Mr. Kratochvil strolled through the bedroom door. I found myself stuck in one of those moments when you both want to slap and kiss somebody. I was excited to see him, because it meant that we were actually going to make it. BUT, I still had to pack, shave & shower, eat something, brush my teeth, have a devotion, do some online banking, e-mail more contacts, write our staff an instruction manual, find a cure for cancer, etc.

We marched outside with suitcases in-hand. Everyone grinned as they looked at the two vehicles which would ferry us on to our Nicaraguan departure point. At that precise moment an explosive brainwave rocketed about my mind – fill one car with bags, so that there would only be sufficient space for the driver. Fill the other car with people, so that Jason would have lots of help in finding the airport he’s been to only a thousand times before.

We crammed everything we could fit into that pocket sized Mitsubishi Lancer. I could barely move the gear stick and had no chance of seeing out ANY window. I reversed cautiously out of the driveway, knowing I’d gone too far in any direction when I heard “bump” or “crash.” I sat and I sat and I sat as I waited. I’m not entirely sure how many people can fit into the Kratochvil’s tall but fairly compact minivan. I think the number would be 6 or 7 legal inhabitants, but hey – we were still in Nicaragua, and 16 wouldn’t be too absurd.

Perhaps it became obvious that this human sandwiching operation wouldn’t work when nobody was able to pull the door shut. Lizzie had to jump out of the van, run around the vehicle in her Latina shoes (not made for comfort), and pound against the door until the screaming subsided. She then trotted back to her side of the car, neatly curled hair bouncing all-the-while, and slammed her door shut.

We were off. “Boy, look at that petrol gauge. Better stop & fill ‘er up” I thought to myself. However, that thought never re-entered my head until we arrived near Nicaragua’s Pentagon equivalent (tin shed, near historic 80s war hotel, previously the Intercontinental – a safe haven for journo’s, some of Nicaragua’s elite, leading religious figures, and political personalities).

“Rats” I lamented. “Of all the times to forget to buy petrol.” I let the car roll on, like it was designed to do. I kept turning the key and pumping the petrol peddle but alas, she was not going to give me anything more. I turned the car onto Carretera Norte and pulled over. I dejectedly exited my own little silver bomb (we would later be on a silver bird), and made my way over to Jason. He knew what had happened, but politely asked anyway “Did you run out of gas?”

I called the boys, requesting their assistance outside of the van. Moments later I realised they were completely paralysed, unable to move on account of all the bodies intertwined within the belly of the mechanical beast. I opened the van door and bodies spilled out onto the ground, like loads of little lollies falling out of a candy dispenser.

The boys got behind the car and at my instruction HEAVED & HOED with all their might. I do have to say at this point, and only because our chaps can’t read English too well, that it felt rather luxurious, almost heavenly, being pushed along silently (well, besides the boys’ strained grunting) through the streets of Managua. Icing on the cake might have been a drop of champers, or some gourmet antipasto, on this Nicaraguan version of a dawn, Venetian Gondola ride.

“Mush” I screamed, as the boys rounded the bend and the petrol station came into view. The laughter and cheers drowned out my verbal abuse. The fellas had seen the salacious establishment and began to celebrate – we would indeed be flying to the Northern Continent. I got out of the car and assisted the lads in pushing our vehicle the final stretch. We pumped GAS and before we knew it, but after an argument between Liz and I over who would pay, we were on our way!

Stevie’s parents had called us at 1am to say that they were at the airport waiting for us. They were OVER-THE-MOON about Stevie receiving this opportunity of travelling to the US and were now very tired, but still equally excited about Stevie’s new adventure. They chatted continuously and didn’t dare enter the terminal building - suspicious of all the security staff, and worried about being arrested for God only knows what. They stood outside the glass window and continued to talk amongst themselves.

Some of Stevie's Family

    

At 5am, there was already a queue with American Airlines (AA). We love flying with AA because of our ability to accrue miles with Qantas Airways (the SPIRIT of Australia), but over the years we’ve witnessed the slow decay of this American icon.

Still, although they’re currently sitting in bankruptcy protection, it seems they’re on their way up. Service seems to be improving. There’s a strategy for the future. They’re merging with US Airways – a northeast and west focused airline, which compliments AA’s network, whose hubs are in the south, Midwest and east. (I know… snore!)

The AA staff began to check us in at the self service check-in kiosks. It’s just one of those Latino things that makes you laugh. In Nicaragua, at any fast-food chain with self-service drinks, you cannot actually serve yourself. They have a dedicated self-servicer who takes the cup from you, refills your drink, charges you a fee and hands the drink back to you.

It’s a similar scenario at the airport. They take your travel documents, type the information on the screen that’s sitting right there in front of you – almost like you could do it yourself! Then, for us Aussies, once they realise they cannot check you in, they send you to the check-in person.

Our lovely check-in lady was gorgeous. Confident, clever, thorough. It’s something that I admire about Latin America. In the US you’ll inevitably be received by some cranky sixty-something-has-been, who thinks of herself as above her job (and definitely above you), especially in the wee hours of the morning. Not in Latin America, their physical presentation is outstanding, they dot their “i’s” and cross their “t’s.” They’re very polite and work really hard.

However, we were a group of 15. No check-in agent likes to be presented with this size of a group, especially not at 5am. In addition to that, the Nicaraguan people are proud, and I have worked at an airport and know how things “fly” on the other side of the counter. In Nicaragua you have to have a gentle combination of lunge and retreat.

I knew I’d pressed a little too hard when she asked for my ESTA US visa papers, something that, in general, is never asked of Australians. I had wanted NO dramas, and had even entered the ESTA website only a few hours before, adjusting all of our details so that this information would appear on the airport’s departure records.

But she was flexing her check-in muscles and so I ripped my paperwork from my pantalones and handed them to her in triumph. She was, of course, highly disappointed that I was so efficient and organised. I have to be, I’M A MISSIONARY WITH THE CALL OF GOD ON MY LIFE!

In addition to being so momentarily wonderfully marvelous, I whispered “and I’d like ALL of our boarding cards to be reprinted with our frequent flyer details on them please.” I smiled at her, a rather Batman’s Joker smile, and she snapped back “they’re in the system!”

I took a moment, but then pressed “Yes, thank you for entering the details into the system, but I am going to be a little cheeky and insist that you reprint all of our boarding cards.” Nicaraguans LOATHE confrontation. “Of course sir…”

The immigration line was non-existent. We gave hugs to Stivey’s family who smiled at us with a mixture of love and gratitude. We chatted for several seconds with our newfound Nicaraguan missionary family from Texas, the Winns, who departed from us to have a spot of breakfast in Managua Airport’s tastefully decorated eatery.

And then it was time. I was so organised my heart filled with pride. I began to hand out, one-by-one, passport and boarding pass. The boys and my children gratefully received their documents and walked through the immigration doors like Princes about to be Coronated.

Of course everything was going well until I realised that the boys needed their national identity cards (cedulas) in order to depart the country. Liz stormed over to me and ripped the documents out of my hands, sending pieces of paper flying in every direction.

I suddenly felt like one of the bankers from Mary Poppins, when there is a rush on the bank for money, as I grappled with important documents which were sailing about the airport’s main lobby. A great big ominous Daniel Ortega sculpture glared down at me. I grabbed whatever I could and ran into the safety of the immigration office.

“I’m with them” I breathlessly murmured. It took a moment to regain my composure, on account of my children’s faces, who looked like they were about to insist that they’d never seen me before.

We entered the security section and the whipping off of clothes began. Not permitted: belts, buckles, shoes and dignity – “lay it all on the belt please.” Of course Sezni had to walk on his hands through the beeping machine, because that’s just how our handsome son, who has Asperger’s Syndrome, gets through his insane life.

The Nicavangelists on there WAY to California (via Miami)

It felt like only a few minutes until the boarding of the aircraft began – a Boeing 737. We climbed aboard and it was at this moment that our boys became awe-struck. First the aero-bridge. They stomped, tippy-toed, salsa’d, cartwheeled and flipped their way on to the shiny silver bird. 

Francesca, Beycker, Yordy, Jonny & Rene, in the Line to Board the AA Aircraft

 

Then the flight attendant, a youngish blonde lady, welcomed us all onboard with a broad grin from ear-to-ear. I wanted to tell the boys that they were experiencing more service from an American Airline’s flight attendant than I’d witnessed in years, but refrained from raining on their parade, because they could care less, and because they could care less.

I sat next to Rene, who had Lorenzy on his other side. Across from me sat Yordy. Anna (our GAP YEAR Leader) was diagonally behind me, and the rest of our crew were in the rows ahead. At this point my mind began to race. I was tired. We’d remortgaged our house, spending some $20k on the organisation and execution of this trip. We believe in the Lord. We believe in our boys. We believe in our kids. We believe in the Church. We believe in the Great Commission. We believe in the importance of winning lost souls. We believe in ourselves…

The plane took off with a roar and the boys began to giggle, laugh, whoop and holler! They were out-of-their-skin excited and we were on our way to our Dream – God had taken a bunch of misfits and lowlifes, put us all together, and blessed us with the courage to step out in faith. Are you ready? Cause HERE WE GO!!! 

Lizzie, Snug As a Bug in a RUG!