POST by JED: Home Sweet Home

The Nicavangelists performing in Chicago

I had stayed up ALL NIGHT LONG. Seven of our troupe had already left, in two groups, utilising car, taxi cab, train, bus and plane to get back to Managua. I was left with the ones I trusted supremely, and the others I had no faith in whatsoever.

Lorenzy gently asked, “Dad, it’s 2am now. May I please sleep for a while?” I stared hard at the floor, wondering how they managed to get the wooden panels to shine the way they did. “Sleep? SLEEP?!!! Heck no, we’ve got to get ALL of our belongings into one place, pack everything to fit into the few suitcases we have left, and clean this house from TOP TO BOTTOM!!! No you may not sleep. Not now, NOT EVER!!!” Lorenzy’s exhausted 13 year old frame meandered away.

Elizabeth is our “packer.” Without question, she is amazing. This woman can get an elephant into a handbag, and a house into a suitcase. She rolls, pouts, pushes and screams! It’s almost the same as her giving birth. And with both scenarios I do the same thing, drink coffee and say “yes dear…”

American punctuality I cannot fathom. At 3:59am, I do not lie, in waltzed valiant Pastor Dominick of the Center Moriches (Long Island) Assembly of God, toting gloves, hat, and a grin from ear-to-ear. His early morning cheer offended me. I skulled a cup of hot coffee a little too fast and ran around inflicting torture on everyone else as I transformed our dormant house into the semblance of a brightly lit Christmas Tree. If I must suffer, than SO MUST YOU!

We dawdled to the van and plonked our bums on the clean, fabric seats. Thankfully, we’d packed the van the night before, and didn’t need to coordinate anything. I checked that we had our passports and paperwork for the 50^th time and then proceeded to make RIDICULOUS attempts at 4:05am small talk.

Pastor Dominick understood my pain. He kept the conversation light.

The Long Island Airport (Macarthur) was barely alive. I was thanking my lucky stars I hadn’t had us fly out of LaGuardia or JFK. My good friend Deidra, from the Evangel Church in Long Island City had helped me out with purchasing our homeward bound flights. The woman was a brainiac with all things aviation and internet, helping me to save hundreds of dollars and my sanity.

We wheeled our 3 trollies of bags into the terminal, and I don’t mean the conventional passenger trollies, I mean the heavy duty, 3 metre long types. There were no other passengers waiting at the US Airways check-in area (America’s equivalent to Air India – soon to be merged with American Airlines, and hence to become America’s very own equivalent of Air China). We began to shift and shuffle suitcases, backpacks, pillows and blankets. I checked in for our flights via the kiosk (American efficiency, I LOVE IT!!!).

The first bleary eyed worker came out of the back office and I knew my work was in front of me. Airport workers will bend rules, but you have to get them onside first. Men are generally more willing to turn blind eyes, but there were none available.

I struck up a conversation, smiling broadly (not authentic, and I could feel the cracks in my performance from the outset) and bunging on my most Aussie accent. “G’day love!” I said as if I knew her. It worked… Phew! From that moment on it was “Australia” this and “Australia” that from her. I stopped smiling after but a few moments, and almost interrupted her to say “look, could you just hurry up!” However, I restrained myself. We hugged and kissed like long lost cousins, and I retreated to the wiry metal seating close to the revolving entrance door.

“Right” I said. “The time is now!... Jonny, I am entrusting you with my very own often forgotten son. Please, please, PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE take care of him, just as if he was YOUR very own offspring… and if you lose him, I will hunt you down and GUT YOU LIKE A PIG!!!” (One of my favourite lines from “The Grinch!” I use it whenever I am nervously serious, and need a little light relief) More hugs and more kisses. The boys toodled off towards the security zone and the departures area.

I slowly bent my knees, not wanting to frighten them with a fast sitting motion, and reveled in the sensation of my botty being cut into a hundred pieces. Lorenzy asked a further 1,000 unnecessary questions and I answered them all, at times referring her back to answers I’d previously given.  We stared at each other without expression, just comfortable not to be busy or in a hurry.

Just as the very last muscle in my tired body began to relax, my long lost cousin from check-in appeared before me. I looked up. “WHAT?” I wanted to ask. I again, restrained myself. “Are you guys okay?” Now honestly, this is not a question to be asking a missionary travelling solo with 12 kids in his charge. I wanted to break down and cry, pouring my heart out to this kind and generous soul, but her facial expression didn’t emanate social worker type of love at this point, instead it exuded “there is a massive problem” kind of love.

“Your flight is scheduled to depart in 25 minutes! You have to get all the way up to the other end of the airport for your security check, and then all the way back down this end to board your flight!” I’d wanted coffee!

Up I jumped, everyone else (bar Lorenzy) unaware of the potential catastrophe we were about to face. I barked orders, having everyone put their 2 backpacks and pillow stuffed with blanket and many other items, onto one of the airport’s industrial sized trollies. (Side note: You can get away with murder when travelling with children – even as an elderly person, I’m going to hire my grandkids so that I can take extra stuff on planes: “Oh, that’s his teddy bear! He likes it… Bah, that’s his i-pad! It helps to relax him… Grrrr, that’s his pair of dumbbells! He needs them…), I fanged it down the departures hall, near-missing many a Long-Island-Business-Type-Person (I kept checking behind for the kids who initially strolled, then jogged, then pelted it too…).

By the time we arrived through screening, we were near naked (on account of belts, buckles, coins, shoes, socks, pens and paperclips being extracted from our persons) and exasperated. We flew past Sezni and Jonny, who had blank expressions on their faces.

We were the last to board the flight, and they had been just about to close it prior to our arrival. I pulled out a sock, a ladies feminine hygiene product, a toothbrush and an array of papers before retrieving our boarding passes. We skipped out onto the tarmac, once again happy to be alive, hearts thumping wildly, only to be turned around to retrieve our passports back at the departure gate, which we’d stupidly left with the airport worker.

As I approached the plane the flight attendant called out “THAT BAG WON’T FIT IN THE PLANE!” I turned my head sideways, pretending not to hear. I looked into the distance and saw an amazing picture – the sun was rising…

The annoying woman continued to call, filling my ears with more “no’s.” She should have realised that I was the wrong person to tackle on a Tuesday morning out of Long Island Airport. “G’DAY!!!” I yelled as I came to within a metre of her, sending her swiftly backwards towards the coffee pot, bee-hive becoming entangled in the handle. “PLEASURE TO SEE YOU!” I exclaimed, as I marched straight past her.

I didn’t get far, she hurried behind me. “Sir, sir, that bag won’t fit on the plane!” I turned around sharply. “Yes it will, it’s only blankets”, my hand harshly squishing the oversized object downwards, though the bag rebelliously not moving an inch making me out to look like a liar and a fool! Many of my fellow passengers’ eyes began to roll…

I arrived at my seat and pulled out a backpack from within my “backpack.” I handed it to her. She raised question mark arms with matching face and asked “where?” I opened the overhead bin in front of me, which was completely empty, stuffed the back pack and other bag in it, and then sat down, ripping the magazine out from the seat pocket in front of me, and pretending to read an article on some new emerging pharmaceutical drug. “Hmpf” and she was gone…

Our flights were dreamy. We made it to Fort Lauderdale, via DC, in record time. We took a taxi to Miami International Airport and made it to Taca. What a disaster! This airline is beautiful, inflight, but a bit chaotic on the ground.

I looked for the end of the line, however confusion reigned. I went to the check-out area and looked back across the empty queues. The congestion started at the back of the line, where bags were being weighed for extra charges, before people were permitted to queue(?).

I approached one of the “bag weighers” and asked him if it might be possible to move the scales halfway towards the check-in counter, so that people could queue within the ropes, rather than obstruct all the increasingly cranky Lufthansa passengers, who were also trying to use the terminal building to access their flights.

The lad looked at me as if I was from Mars. I asked for the manager, who suddenly appeared beside me. I again explained my brilliant idea, and she said “thank you for your ideas, but we have to abide by specific regulations (in queue procedure???).” I asked to speak to the airport manager. She explained that she was the airport manager.  Our exchange became increasingly heated, as I begged her to have an idea that might assist her in assisting others.

I marched away highly annoyed, and returned to my group, HOPING for some support. Not to be… As I approached them, Sezni, my gallant son,  started pointing his thumb in hitchhiker fashion, calling out loudly, embarrassingly and with authority “AH AH AAAAAH! BACK OF THE LINE FOR YOU!!!” Thanks for the support, Sezanator!

We arrived back in Nicaragua to huge fanfare. Thank you Elizabeth for the fuss! I was thrilled to be home and delighted to have our family reunited. We crammed, all 50 of us (she’d brought half of our barrio with her), into our currently running ute.

As we drove along Managua’s busy, people saturated streets, two things struck me about Nicaragua.

Firstly, people love, love, love people. They’re out and about, partly because of necessity and partly because they need to be with others. They’re human. One problem in the west is that we work our guts out to get the biggest house possible, and then retreat to them, henceforth creating a copious supply of loneliness in our societies.

Secondly, people are desperate. In the US, for the most part, I had NOT experienced hunger. Any time I felt a need, I filled it. Driving home I began to feel hunger, in Nicaragua hunger is my companion.

As we drove home Lizzie relayed the sad events of the preceding evening. Alex, a 17 year old boy and a regular at our center, had become entangled in a brawl on the street. A friend of his, unable to really help, ran to Alex’s mother and communicated exactly what was transpiring. Alex’s mother came to the aid of her son. She shot the offender and he is now permanently paralyzed. Both Alex and his mother have been sent to prison.

Last night, I went with Aben and Harrison to buy snacks. As we entered the petrol station it became apparent that the attendants were mopping up blood. “What’s going on?” asked Aben. “We’ve just had a machete attack.”

I had been so critical of much I’d seen and heard in the US. I had begun to idolize my beautiful Nicaragua. However, I am at the place of completely accepting that “None is righteous, no, not one…”  (Romans 3)

So where to from here? Nothing has changed and so because we know God, understand the call on our lives, we continue… we carry on… “Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.”  But wait, here’s the promise:  

And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age!!!

(Matthew 28)

We currently have an urgent need. Our Brien children need an education. We've managed to this point, but cannot continue teaching upper high school classes to them (I'M A 4th/5th GRADE TEACHER!!!). We are enrolling them in an American online school, so that they will receive a Higher School Certificate. The cost is $4,000 per year, and we do not have this in our budget. If you feel to assist us with this need, please contact us (CapitalontheEdge@gmail.com). You helping us, will help us help others... Thank you! Jeddoxo

POST by SHANE: Hope for the People (Part Two - Visiting the Edge)

In the 2004 film “Hotel Rwanda”, the true story of hotel manager Paul Rusesabagina (portrayed by Don Cheadle) saving over 1,000 refugees from the nation’s genocide in 1994 was told.  Part way through the movie, an exchange takes place between Cheadle and an American camera man played by Joaquin Phoenix. 

The dialogue is as follows:

Paul Rusesabagina (Cheadle): I am glad that you have shot this footage and that the world will see it. It is the only way we have a chance that people might intervene.
Jack Daglish (Phoenix): Yeah and if no one intervenes, is it still a good thing to show?
Paul: How can they not intervene when they witness such atrocities?
Jack: I think if people see this footage they'll say, "Oh my God that's horrible," and then go on eating their dinners.

I’ve always found that excerpt to be one part powerful and the other insightful. We commonly watch the news; make broad statements to those within earshot about how things need to change and then move on with our lives. It’s an understandable reaction within a culture where every terrible thing happening on earth is hurled at us each day by a myriad of media sources. 

A little CHAMPION in Managua's Children's Hospital

We battle to push it out of our heads. We distract ourselves to avoid facing the thought. We make up excuses to focus on something else. Many people sleepwalk, some stay in the shallow waters of the pool to avoid the depths they’ll find at the opposite end, and still others hone their ability to remain apathetic. These are all ways to cope so that we can remain happy and optimistic about life, but unfortunately, they are also equally ineffective at solving these terrible things that are happening.

The people of Nicaragua are poor. 

Oliver & his family's Pigs

The average per capita income is less than $1,000 a year. Nicaragua is the second most impoverished nation in the western hemisphere (Haiti being first) and the poorest Spanish speaking country in the world. The underemployment rate (those unemployed or working for less than Nicaragua’s legal minimum wage) hovers close to 50%. Minimum wage scales range between $0.40 and $0.80 per hour (officially) depending on industry. Those in the population not malnourished subsist on a diet of mostly rice and beans every day. 

Elizabeth handing out medical equipment in Solis... Thanks Shane & Jen for your support of our community!

 Houses, particularly in rural areas, are often made up of a composite of materials from the nearby landscape, both natural (stones, tree trunks or branches, etc.) and fabricated (aluminum, tin, lumber, etc.). There is no heat and no air conditioning in almost all of the country’s non-commercial structures.  The rural population approaches 50%, but only about 1 in 20 Nicaraguans own an automobile. The average person spends less than 5 years in school and almost one-third of adults over the age of 15 are considered illiterate. All of this is ordinary to the citizens there.

Cedro Galan public school

So, imagine a life where all of the above is true. You are average, which means you are poor and surrounded by those who share that same status. Jobs are scarce and when available, they are hotly contested to the point where the winner often ends up working for a wage beneath the required minimum. The government and police exist, but make little more than you (sometimes less) and are almost never above reproach. Most are only accustomed to small bribes, but there is always the possibility they are complicit in more serious and violent crimes. Theft is so widespread it is an accepted part of daily life. Trust, as we understand it, is a foreign concept.

Billy & Francesca Learning to DANCE!

During my family’s visit, it was unexpected, but at least a little encouraging finding that despite all of the above, happiness does not evaporate entirely. People smile and laugh easily once they’ve had a little time to warm up. They tell stories and ask how you are just like anywhere else in the world. To the casual observer, you might even say that they live like you might imagine you would in their situation. It’s when you peel back away from the surface a little that the differences become more apparent.

Chapel time on the Edge

While happiness and laughter are present, characteristics more rarely found are hope and a belief in the future. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that both are in such short supply. What the circumstances in Nicaragua seem to have caused is a permanent survival mode mindset.

In the U.S. people around my age associate the Latin phrase “carpe diem” with “seize the day” (that and Robin Williams standing on a desk at some stuffy New England prep school in the 1950s). However, it’s the extended version of the saying that goes, “carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero” meaning “'pluck the day, trusting as little as possible in the future” that applies here. You see, there is no future to hope for in the minds of many Nicacaraguans. There are only the needs of today that must be met and tomorrow isn’t considered until it arrives. Goals and dreams are commonly uncommon because, really, what’s the use? The population at an overwhelming rate is locked in a regular struggle to survive.

The Disciples, disciple...

I was supremely impressed by the 8 young men in the guesthouse that I met while staying with the Briens. All of them fall somewhere between very skilled and incredibly talented as “trickers” (street gymnastics) and/or dancers (bboy – breakdance, and electronic). They are delightfully adept at improvising and are applying themselves each day to learning choreography. They also seem eager to finish their education and learn English. Having said this, what does their future look like if they don’t have faith that there’s a good one waiting for them? If they don’t believe they can overcome the challenges they are sure to face, how far can they go? Absent hope, is the effort worthwhile?

Elizabeth & Lorenzy working with Missionary Doctors to Make Sure the People of Cedro Galan get Appropriate Medical Care

In the Bible (Jeremiah 29:11), it says, “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” This is what I pray for in those 8 young men and also for Nicaragua as a whole.

Francesca Brien, a 15 year old missionary in Nicaragua

I believe the opportunities will arrive, but also know that such prospects come and go frequently all around the world. Do the people of Nicaragua know they have a future and a hope? Is it just a whisper in the ears of a few or will it be heard as a shout from the lips of thousands?

The children of Capital Edge Community School

This is why my friends and others like them have come to Nicaragua. It’s so they can be used as tools to help bridge the gap between the few and the many.

What of you and me? Why have we been placed wherever it is we’re currently taking up space? What’s our purpose?

I think we can come up with more than a few good answers, but I’m pretty sure it’s not so that we can go on eating our dinner.

POST by LIZ: Trick or Treat

With the end of October looming, something rather unusual is taking place in the shops here – we are seeing the malls decked with spider webs and jack-o-lanterns; the stores are stocking up on Halloween items. 

“Unusual?” I hear many question.  Perhaps not for the Western world, but for here – YES!  With the strong catholic foundation, many Nicaraguans view Halloween (as do many British Christians) as: E V I L… and as a country, have not promoted such a festival.

I remember being 12 years old, sitting at the top-of-the-stairs gazing out the window as ghosts, zombies, fairies and witches happily walked below in full swing of their “trick or treat-ing”. 

But their disguises did not fool me.  I identified many of these walking horrors as my humble class mates from school. 

Yet, for us Townsends, the 31^st October was lock-down night.  There were no candies to be given or received -  although, at times my brother would grab an egg or two, and practice his cricket pitch, from the top-stairs´ window, using the goodie-bag-holding-passers as unsuspecting ball targets.

I don´t ever recall feeling mad at my parents in their decision to forbid us to participate in these Halloween activities.  I wanted God in my life and good things, so it made sense not to celebrate an event that promoted themes of death, horror and spiritual darkness. 

I would wonder why anyone would want to celebrate a night that encourages many people to dress as evil and create evil towards others. (I would frown as my school friends´ bragged of how many “shit bombs” they'd left burning on front porches, or how many firecrackers they'd managed to shove through letter boxes of the vulnerable elderly (remember that British letter boxes go straight into the house), or how their fingers would hurt after tying so many crackers to cats´ tails).

The stories that buzzed around during October about children having their throats slit due to the placement of razor blades inside candies given out, were enough to convince me not to crave the sweets given.  And on the rare occasions that we did venture out on this celebrated night, was enough to scare me from ever wanting to roam the streets on the eve of all saints day. 

I remember one October 31^st walking briskly through the dark, dodging out-of-control fireworks that whizzed and banged in the streets and watching freaked-out cats run past (some unable to  free themselves of the tied fire crackers).  

So my parents' decision wasn´t such a big deal to me, although I can´t answer for my siblings.  We only had to wait several more days to get our sugar fix, as we would celebrate, with fireworks and candy, the famous Guy Fawkes Night (which coincidentally also celebrates death, without compassion for cats!).

As the years passed, my folks (as did many other Christians) started seeing Halloween as an opportunity to share the gospel with our community.  My parents hosted “Hallelujah Nights” using the local church as a vessel for connecting with the community: claiming back the night for wholesome activity, and providing a God focused dwelling as an alternative which put Jesus in the centre. 

These events were AWESOME!  My creative mother would organise her famous crazy – and often very messy – games, my dad would use his puppets to entertain the kids with gospel messages and there were bags and bags and bags of candy to be dished out.   But it was ALWAYS Hallelujah night and never Halloween!

So you can image the shock to my system when Jed and I moved to Mexico, only to be invited by our conservative Christian Missionary American friends to a Halloween party!   (They didn´t even try to disguise the name!)

Our American buddies (who are so adamant that drinking alcohol is a sin, which most of us European Christian´s think is utterly bizarre) saw no problem in celebrating this night I knew to be promoting evil.  I felt their nudges as they laughed at some Mexican protesters positioned at the traffic lights bashing Halloween! 

But I was torn.

My upbringing had me siding with the Mexicans, who were now madly waving their banners which proclaimed Halloween as being evil and not good, at our passing bus. Yet my two years in the US opened my eyes to how my Puritan-founded friends viewed the night: as a fun family night to get together, get creative with cute costumes, and a chance to try new pumpkin recipes.  YES! Of course there is spider web and carved pumpkin décor, but this is all viewed as a bit of fun!  While some embrace the horror themes associated with Halloween, others do not.      

As the bus passed, my US expat friends started talking about how strange it was that the Latino Christians would firmly reject Halloween and be protesting against their party plans, yet have no problem celebrating the Day of the Dead.

Curious to know more, I asked what that event was. I found out that in Latin America, families gather together in grave yards and take food (mostly a special type of bread) to honor their loved ones who have since departed from this world.

I thought this day to be rather family promoting and sentimental, but one of the Halloween party organisers expressed how spiritually dark this celebration can be, how it promotes death and encourages communication with dead people. (I quietly struggled with her arguments of why it was okay for people to celebrate Halloween, yet not okay for people to celebrate the Day of the Dead).

It was before Mexico and during our time living in the States, that Jed and I were forced to discuss the issue of Halloween. It´s strange to think we had been married four years before we conversed regarding the topic. Although Halloween events do exist in Australia, it´s not really a big deal like it is in the UK or US.

We had never had a knock at the door with the phrase “Trick or Treat?” that followed, and we had never celebrated October 31^st as a “Halloween” or “Hallelujah” night.  So we really had no reason to ever discuss Halloween before we lived in the US.  

Returning to my NY home, after plowing through the aisles and aisles of Halloween merchandise in Walmart, I was shocked to find my husband madly throwing candy to the neighbourhood kids shouting out “Happy Halloween”. 

While I whispered (I didn´t want to offend my American neighbours) my verbal attacks at him for participating in evil works, he continued to throw the hard lollies to passing bunnies, spidermen and fairies.  It was at this point that we talked about cultural differences with regards to this celebrated day. I had two options: one - to hold to my cultural and spiritual beliefs and upbringing and put a stop to the human piñata, or two – to put my own beliefs aside and join in on the fun.  

“Oh, What the heck,” I thought and joined in with dishing out the candy and hoped my parents would never hear of what I had done! 

Here, the majority of Christian Nicaraguans share the same view as the majority of the Christian Mexicans do with regards to Halloween. Many US Americans take furlough opportunities to horde back Halloween decorations etc as they know too well that obtaining these items here can be a task and a half. 

In the two years we have lived here, I have seen a difference in the items available in the shops that satisfy Westerner demands.  The stores are catching on that there is a “hot-market” they can tap into.  Suppliers are realising that this flush “market” is not solely seeking out ´Halloween´ goodies, and are slowly increasing the supply of items we Westerners believe should be readily available.  

Many of the Christian Nicaraguans view pagan festivities as just that: Pagan. They reject Halloween and any symbols related to Halloween, they believe that drinking is a sin, they freak out when foreigners give “bunny-ears” to someone else while taking a photo, they disapprove strongly of symbols such as the “ban the bomb” or the “ying and yang”.  They believe the Christmas tree is evil (and use scripture to promote their beliefs), and tend to disapprove of Christmas decorations in general.   (Although, ironically you can´t drive around Managua and miss the gaudy Christmas trees that are displayed on almost every rotunda! – because, naturally, having socialist President, Daniel Orgeta, means it IS Christmas all year round!).

To date: I have visited 27 countries and I have lived in five of them, so Halloween is not the only topic I´ve had to wrestle with my once-set-rules-and-norms. I cherish Jonathan Swift´s satire, Gulliver´s Travels, which targets mindsets and deep cultural beliefs.  It exposes how strong culture and tradition are to a group of humans and the effects they have on an individual.  It causes readers to ponder their world, logic and belief system.  It attacks the imperialist mindset and encourages people to view differences as “different” and not “wrong” merely because it doesn´t match up to one's own beliefs.  

I´m not really sure what culture I fit into these days!  I´m still very British in many of my ways, yet the Australian, North and Central American living experiences and my travels to four of the world´s continents, have also had an impact on my life.  I have embraced many of the Australian, North American, Central American, European, and Asian norms as my own. Yet, for some reason, I still struggle with cultural differences. 

I have noticed how often cultural traditions and norms deeply impact spiritual mindsets and my daily prayer springs off of a Romans´ scripture:

“Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, THEN you will be able to test and approve what God´s will is – his good, pleasing and perfect will.”