POST by LEIKY: Padres and Prison

Jairo & Leiky sucking on lollipops in an Illinois Parade

Hello my name is Leikis. I would like to tell you a little story about my friend Jairito.

Well, my friend’s life was very difficult. His Dad and his Mum did not get on very well because they were always fighting. So, His Mum kicked His Dad out of the house and Jairito’s Dad called his Grandmother and his Grandmother took His Dad in to her house.

My friend Jairito and his brothers were all crying, but the time went by and their Dad came back to the house and started to fight with Jairito's uncle, because he wanted to hurt Jairito’s Mum.

His brothers grabbed their Dad, but then their Dad decided to leave and the Police came to look for their Dad and they grabbed him and took him to jail. When Jairito’s Dad got out of prison, his mother went to go find him and she said "come home please" and he said to the her "yes, ok" and they lived happily forever.

Thanks to God they didn’t fight again.

Jairo's Happy Family

This story was written by a Nicaraguan youth, and was voluntarily given to Capital on the Edge for publishing. The subject choice was his entirely. He has elected to write about his experiences for the glory of God and so that others may learn from his experiences. The translation of this work is performed voluntarily and not professionally, hence there may be some errors. Any decisive deviation from the text is in consultation with the author, and is done so to make clear the life events written about and to provide further information so that the story is more understandable.

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hola me llamo leikis quiero con tarles un poco sobre la vida de mi amigo jairito vueno la vida de mi amigo era muy difisil porque su papa y su mama nose llevavan bien porque para ese tiempo se abian peleado, entonces su mama corrio a su papa de la casa y su papa no sabia adonde hir, y su papa llamo asu abuelita y su abuelita se lo llebo para su casa y mi amigo y sus hermanos se que daron llorando, pero paso un tiempo y su papa yego ala casa y se peleo con sutio porque lequeria pegar ala mama de mi amigo pero sus hermanos de mi amigo semetieron a agarrar asu papa pero despues su papa sefue y yegola policia abuscar asu papa y lo agarraron y callo preso, pero despues salio y su mama lobusco y le dijo benine a la casa por favor y su papa le dijo si y vivieron felizes para siempre .

Y gracias a dios no bolbieron a pelear. 

Media: From Nicaragua to Worthington, by way of breakdancing

Jose, 20, grew up on the streets of Managua, the capital of Nicaragua, located in the heart of Central America. His mother worked long hours, and he didn’t know his father. He wasn’t very old when he learned to steal and began smoking marijuana.

To read entire article, please CLICK HERE

POST by JED: Planes, Trains & Automobiles - Part 4

Minnesota, you are pure delight! All I can say is Earth, water, air and fire... I could never have anticipated the healing you'd restore to my weary bones, nor the energy you'd infuse for later use.

I wasn't nearly sold on you and guess what - you've won me over! I knew we had valuable relationships hibernating, waiting to be ignited, but my expectations were obliterated, completely blown away...

In a Latin American school both Liz and I had taught in years ago, there existed a strong affiliation between the school and a Minnesotan University. The institution we worked at regularly welcomed students of this university, with some of their tertiary students also completing on-the-job-training and being hired by our organisation after graduation.

As I look back on those days, I recognise that many of these uni-students (college kids) lacked maturity. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for keeping it cool, having fun, making noise, and generally being extremely naughty (I'm actually renowned for it) - but that's not what I'm talking about.

The uni-students and new teacher recruits seemed to be missing something. I'm referring to the lack of general knowledge about the World, social faux pas, a lack of common sense, taking themselves waaaaaaaaaaaaay too seriously, etc. In short, some of my colleagues nicknamed these uni-students "Minnesodumbs."

Yikes! A bit rude, even for this no-nonsense Aussie. I never referred to them in this manner, but in terms of these young folk, I could kind of see why they were dubbed in this way (so sorry Minnesotans, please keep reading! I was wrong, SO very wrong...).    

"Good morning ladies and gents, it's time to put this Big Bird down", chimed in the chirpy pilot. Yuppo, have to confess, still reeling about the lack of "professionalism" served up by American airline carriers, but promise I won't go on about it too much more.

It's the airports' turn now. I'm going to have-a-go at America's finest airports, who in this period of mass-privatisation are "blessed" with increased passenger numbers, more imposed efficiencies (only ever cost cutting. Just chat with airport workers, they'll set you free with the truth), and lots of hoops for passengers to jump through. "Sit. Heel. Roll over. Beg!"  Next time you're in an American airport, just sit back and watch - it's like being at Sydney's Royal Easter Show watching the dog trials in the main stadium.

Chicago's O'Hare was an aviation disappointment to Jeddo. However, Minnesota's terminal left me aeronautically despairing. Who do we blame? Washington (notice I'm posting this blog AFTER our trip to the Capital?).

After September 11, the American government sought to carefully continue on its plan of civil aviation deregulation. In the West, (Australia and GB are no exception) we strive to make sure the free-market-model works, even if we have to bleed billions of dollars propping up failing business entities who have unfairly suffered at the hand of unions, terrorism (sorry, I know some people think unions and terrorism are the same thing), technological advancement, economic downturns, increased fuel costs, unfair innovative competition, leftist governments, fluorescent clothing, difficult crossword puzzles, pink backward-flying pigs and dandruff. What can I say - life presents challenges.  

Long story short, Delta Airlines bought out Minnesota's Northwest Airlines. Thousands of jobs were moved from Minneapolis to Atlanta, consequentially damaging the Twin City's economy.  The airport terminal we arrived in seemingly reflected this tearing away to the South.

"Oh dear", I lamented. "It's a sad thing for the north region, but airline consolidation in the USA is long overdue." You get what you pay for I guess. Airline tickets in the World's biggest economy haven't risen in many years, and that's why you sit with your knees tucked up your nose, and purchase styrofoam flavoured food from tired, overworked flight attendants - but I'm back onboard the aircraft again!!! So sorry, I'll just disembark this emergency landed blogliner - Oh dear, the ding-dang-blogcraft door won't release! Due to efficiencies it wasn't possible to have it serviced I guess...

Oh well, you'll have to ride through the memoir turbulence I'm currently experiencing. I have fond memories of Northwest Airlines, they were the airline that carried my brother and I from Sydney to Indianapolis when we attended Bill Gothard's training camp in the old Stouffer's Hotel on Meridian Street.

I was a lad of only 16 years. Upon completion of "child in crisis" training, I returned to Australia just prior to my brother, and I have to say Northwest Airlines were amazing.

I didn't officially travel as an unaccompanied minor, but you know how it is with old fashioned airline service, children used to be treated with compassion and charity. And as it turned out, I was treated like a king - thank you Northwest, thank you Viking people of the north.

And so back to Minneapolis I returned - as a man. The passenger terminal hadn't changed a bit - literally I think. The decor was tired and shabby. "Oh no," I contemplated. "Minnesota's not looking too flash."

But, conversely, waiting at our baggage carousel was the exceedingly delightful looking Dom-Dom and her new Peruvian handsome husbo, Walther. Dominique is a favourite of the Brien family. During our time in Guadalajara, Mexico, we spent many a morning, noon and night with this delectant of a lady.

I have to hover over this meeting for a sec. Why? Well, to tell you of a Cindarella-esque transformation. Dom's Dad isn't dead and she doesn't have a wicked step-mumma, actually quite the opposite. Dom's Dad spends every day saving lives as a community respected doctor and her Mum IS a heart of Christ - warmth? Nope, she's HOT! (stay with me) You know, she's just one of those people who simply looks at you with and through a lens of love.

It's no wonder Dom turned out the way she did. She's blessed with her father's compassion for humanity, and has had Christ sewn through her since birth, by an attentive, Kingdom-conscious mother.

However, way back in Guadalajara, Dom was a recent graduate and we joined her for the second year of her teaching career. I liked the girl straight away. She was nothing of the naive girls I mentioned we worked with. She was constantly scaffolding information about the world around her, in that mighty mental machine she was blessed with.

She was poor like us. Having just left university she was starting from scratch. She had a laptop, change for the bus and a great attitude. We built many fun memories in the staff room, our lounge room, her classroom and any other room we used as a make-shift party habitation.

I say "habitation", because we were EXTREMELY into fancy-dress parties (Liz and I always have been) - decoration was key to a night out-in. To be honest, our parties kept us laughing, released some of the teacher-tension we experienced daily, and helped us to dream of bigger things than the solitude of our cupboard sized classrooms would allow.

But Dom was poor. She wore clothes from her university days, still looking like phase-one adult, not really having figured out the image she would "present" to the world.

Well, the woman we now saw before us had truly been through her cocoon phase. In Minneapolis's baggage hall stood before us an educated, knowing, sophisticated, professional woman. Liz and I were both taken aback. We hugged and laughed and chatted dim wittingly. I practiced my rusty, barrio Spanish on Walther as we clip-clopped our way from the terminal to Dom's car.  

We drove out onto the freeway and I began to feel hope for Minnesota. "It's kind of pretty" thoughts zipped through my cranium. We then turned off into parts of the Minnesotan city and suburbs and I began to feel fondly for the state. Minnesota's GORGEOUS! 

As we traversed across the broad state, my love for Minnesota continued to grow. From deer in the paddocks, to endless dazzling lakes and rolling hills, Minnesota is simply sumptuous.

We arrived at Dom's lakefront home and stood with jaws gaping. Dom's family were all there to greet us and were equally as beautiful as Dom, her parents, their home, the lake, and everything else that filled our senses. 

Over the next few days we became busy trying to relax. The food was scrumptious, we learnt how to drive a jetski, we rode aboard a tyre behind a boat, and chatted around the fire of an evening.

We played cards and laughed until we cried. We also cried. It was an emotional time for Dom's family. It seemed as though their nest was previously full-as-a-goog and in a matter of just minutes everyone was marrying and moving abroad. Emotions ran high. Thankfully, so did the a/c, providing thousands of places to both hide and seek.

In all, I thank God for people like Dom's family. They make love look easy, selflessly throwing themselves at those in need around them.

Liz and I had come to the US to share with Churches about our mission for the cause of the Gospel, in Nicaragua, but didn't have appropriate clothing so as to be culturally attuned.

I needed suits and Liz needed clothes with zips, buttons, bells and whistles. Our kids needed clothes that fitted, didn't have holes, nor stains, and that looked a cut above going-out-for-tacos.

We didn't have money to purchase "presentation" clothing and had planned to use some of our "gift" money for a start-up wardrobe (Sunday best).

In short Dom's brother (a chap getting married), his sister and mother, all donated clothes to us (2 suits and a pair of slacks for me and 2 suitcases of clothes for Elizabeth and the kids).

Liz and I drove to our first Church appointment in Dom's Mum's car (which she'd filled with petrol for us, and left the petrol (gas) card for us to use), dressed for success. I felt like a presidential candidate and Liz like a royal as we arrived at the home of our first Church's pastor.

Wendy came out of her lakefront home, which we'd driven for 3 hours to get to. I froze. Liz jumped out of the car confidently and sauntered over to Wendy, still in royal mode - clearly forgetting that we were actually only commoners.

I awkwardly got out, fumbling the car keys from the ignition and onto the floor, back into my hands and onto the ground, stretching my fingers out to pick them up and then stepping onto my hand with my very own foot. 

With guest speaker-like dignity I lifted my head quickly, trying to regain composure, and whilst attempting to stand swiftly bumped my head against the roof of the car.

I walked dizzily over to Wendy, feeling like I'd just competed in a Mexican luche match, and probably looking like I was guilty of drink-driving, and attempted to greet her with a kiss (not quite there, in any sense).

It was weird, but good. We were finally there. The end of beginning had arrived. Time for the show to go on. Excited to the max we entered Wendy's home.

This woman was sent to us from the God of Heaven. I had initially written to Wendy from out-of-the-blue. She was not a contact via a network. She wasn't expecting my e-mail. I had written to her in the hope that she would allow us to share our lives with her and her Church family.

I believed from the outset that Wendy, her Church, and Capital on the Edge would be mutually significant. I felt kindred. I felt at home. I was now in her home.   

We're in the USA for a couple of months sharing light (the message is Jesus, evangelism and discipleship), Nicaragua (trying to raise funds to continue our work) and our family (we're going here, there and everywhere).

If you are an Australian and would like to support us through the Australian Christian Churches - International Missions (Australian arm of the Assemblies of God), please visit our facebook page, Capital on the Edge, click on "files" at the top of the page, and then download "Field Worker Support Pledge form.pdf", fill it in and send it back to them.

If you are an American and would like to support us through the Assembly of God Church (for a tax receipt), write a cheque (check) in the name of "Zimmerman Community Church" and send your cheque (check) to:

                    Zimmerman Community Church

                    12567 5th Avenue

                    Zimmerman, MN, 55398

- On the memo line of your cheque (check) you should write: Capital on the Edge

- At the end of the tax year, Zimmerman Community Church will send you a tax-deductible receipt

- Please e-mail us (CapitalontheEdge@gmail.com) so that we can notify Zimmerman Community Church that we are expecting to receive a donation.

If you are a Church and would like to consider having us come and share about what we are doing in Nicaragua, please e-mail us: CapitalontheEdge@gmail.com

Thanks for reading Part 4 of Planes, Trains and Automobiles,

Jeddoxoxoxo    

POST by JED: Planes, Trains & Automobiles - Part 1

Travelling is my favourite thing in the World to do. I LOVE it! That's why I worked for a travel agency and airline for 5 years. And so it was no surprise to my parents, who had spent the majority of their lives in missions, when I picked up my gigantic young family and headed off for distant lands.

Now most of you will also know that Liz and I have quit our jobs and stepped out in faith, starting a community based school and centre, and travelling regularly to the local schools to teach Bible and English classes, sharing Jesus with the scary dudes of Tipitapa Prison, and praying with the sick kids in hospital - feeding them and buying them medicines.

Many readers will also recognise that Liz and I have given literally EVERYTHING we have, and are now broke.

In March, we had our pastors visit from Australia. They are Godly men and we looked to them for wisdom. Coupled with their visit was an invitation from an Assemblies of God Church in New York to come and share. Throw in a raving Independent Baptist poking us and prodding us about the benefits of deputation and there you have it, we felt compelled to itinerate in the good ol' United States of America.

And so in the lead up to our trip everything was chaos. I was madly teaching classes, working with the staff, discipling the never-ending stream of jovenes that seem to be ever-present, and trying to squeeze US Church visits into any nook and cranny our timetable would hold.

Two nights before our departure Liz and I were having a quiet moment during dinner (literally with the other 30 people in our house) when she said "What are we going to say to all of these Churches Jed?" I hadn't really thought about it. I mean, it's not like we don't have anything to share, but what do you draw out and focus on? The orphans or street children? The youth? Those in prison, the sick, the standard and system of education? What?

What do they want to hear? Should they be rolling in the aisles laughing their heads off, crying uncontrollably using each other's neck ties as handkerchiefs, do I rock the boat with a challenging message, or go for the pity party?

How should the time be organised? Who should speak? Can women speak in the Churches we're going to? What about kids? What about girls? Eeeek! I am not a preacher but I always have plenty to say - My answer was simple and so I said a little too pompously "I will trust the Holy Spirit to lead me..." HA! How could she trump that!! But, oh dear, it's Liz, she will somehow find a way!!! "Okay, well maybe you should just speak alone and I'll sit with the kids and listen. I will trust the Holy Spirit to teach me."

With Liz's words my mind started to go a wee-bit doo-lally, "HOLY-MOLY-MOLY, she's right! I need to consider my words and seek the Lord as to what he'd have me say. Christ always had a plan and was ever communicating with the God of Heaven, he's my example and I will follow him..."

Liz and I sat together, prayed and came up with a delightful array of tantalising, thought-provoking, third world informational tid-bit, sub-sectioned service elements designed to have people think, consider, pray and communicate with us.

We decided firstly to share the love of Jesus and secondly, to disseminate the message of hope through Christ, and us through Him crafting disciples to help in fulfilling the Great Commission - "...go and make disciples of all nations, baptising 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..." (Matthew 28:19-20)

And so verily we planned songs to sing in both Español and English, a skit that Franny (our delightful daughter) had performed during one of our youth nights, an audience participation activity exposing the harsh realities of cultural difference (highlighting our transitional faux pas), a powerpoint presentation to vividly reflect the words we were speaking and a video. "A VIDEO??? No time", I thought to myself, I had to run!!!

I was determined to tidy up every aspect of our lives in Nicaragua, before venturing on our merry, Jesus sharing, awareness and support raising, pilgrimage to the north country. Upon my arrival at Shawn's house, my best Gringo friend in Nicaragua, I realised it was already 9pm. I plonked myself on the couch and began to work.

Fortunately, my friend Shawn is PASSIONATE about the Lord and loves to talk about Him at all times. And so I found myself more in the Bible and less in the computer than I had planned. Tremendous, I finished my film, which was really just a "next week" type of promotional video, and stumbled home to bed. It was 4am by the time my blinking eyes finally rested.

9am and up we all got. On Sundays, at Capital Edge Community Center, we have a Baptist Church service. We did a quick tidy-up involving sweeping the floor, rounding up the 6 dogs and 6 horses (5 horses and a foal), determining whether the youth present are desirous of Church or chatter, and evicting the latter, and making coffee, copious quantities of caliente (hot - though don't use this word when trying to explain that your body temperature is soaring through the roof, as I once did with my delightful 4th graders... It has quite a different meaning when used in reference to the human body - let's pause here for a moment and thank the LIVING GOD I wasn't fired over that embarressing incident) cups of sumptuous java.

The Worshippers all vacated the premises and Liz immediately transformed from a hymn singing Angel into a whip cracking tyrant. She was focused, determined and unforgiving. "Move that box from A to B!" She yelled. "Put your back into it you slovenly coward!" She screamed. "Get your thumb out of your mouth and work, work, work" She commanded. Exhausted? You have no idea...

I left at 9pm a broken man, but satisfied that I had given my all to the love of my life, and although the place wasn't "ready" for our imminent departure, it was well on the way. I worked through the night on our second video. It took forever and again, I found myself distracted by the teacher of Jesus, my pal Shawn.

I arrived home, again at 4am, to find that Liz was still yelling and screaming, though at the volume of a whisper. Why she'd worked up such a frenzy during the day she'd become hoarse. The Lord truly is mysteriously miraculous, my prayers were being answered one at a time... ha ha

I quickly packed my things and helped with a few final chores before sounding the alarm and organising the troops. We said our goodbyes which was relatively short and sweet, except for a lingering hug between Francesca and Beycker. I wasted no time hugging over the top of the duo, which made them laugh and seperate. That's the move I always go for "laugh and seperate", "Laugh and Seperate", "LAUGH AND GET AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!!!" (I often find myself laughing and by the end I'm crying, and I don't know which emotion I'm drawing on and whether I really should be laughing or crying, and so I PUSH ahead...)

American Airlines, partner to Qantas Airways - the Spirit of Australia. Although I find the new "check-in" gadgets thoroughly appalling and the lack and quality of service extremely disappointing, I cannot deny that the queues are shorter and the system is efficient.

I put my nose in the air and stride straight past the North American airline staff who were dressed in shorts, t-shirts, and whose lack of make-up and hair fashion was painfully obvious - a disgusting reality of cheap air travel in the US market. "If only I was flying with Taca or Copa", I lament. "Their customer service agents still wear suits and their flight attendants still look like Patsy Stone from the BBC's Absolutely Fabulous."

We arrive in Miami and so far I'm impressed. The flight, although full, was pleasant and the flight attendants, although not glamorously presented (probably due to the 100 hours they've worked this week - another North American airline phenomenon), were tired but friendly and helpful.

As with all American airport hubs, we find ourselves having to walk along 300 miles of hallways, before finally arriving at the immigration hall. Of course, the trip took twice as long because Sezni decided to run in the wrong direction along the travelator. But that just made the walking more interesting, ESPECIALLY when we were confronted by an angry pilot who had tried to go around Sezni, but in the process had spilt his steaming hot coffee all over himself, dropped his newspaper which was swiftly eaten by the travelator's hungry teeth, and burnt/grazed his hand whilst trying to protect his fall. Never mind, he had other things to worry about, like whether or not Greece would still be there upon his descent into Athens.

 Of course, due to our alien status, we joined the 25 person long line and patiently waited. We held Sezni close, with hand over mouth. He was excited, had too much energy and was simply out-of-control. And so we reeled, BOY DID WE REEL...

We arrived at the front of the queue and the courteous, but unimpressed no-nonsense immigration officer called us over. I untightened my grip on the boy, keenly aware of the cameras on my person. He had calmed down! "Phew" I thought.

The officer asked "Why are you in the US?" My response, "We're coming to speak in Churches and visit with friends and family". I was nervous. We're Australian, which means we can basically come-and-go from the US without visas, but throw in the whole living in anti-West Nicaragua component, and we start to feel like Australia's David Hicks, evading detention in Guantanamo Bay.

Blah, blah, blah, look into the camera, put your index finger on the pad, etc, etc, etc. The children behave like angels. Smiling sweetly and answering correctly. Their tone is perfect, not to loud so as to come across bossy and disrespectful, and not too soft, like they're covering something up. And then it's Sezni's turn...

"Sezni Brien?", the chap calls. "Sezni?', he repeats himself. We all start to look at Sezni, our pleasant countenances begin to morph into concentrated stares. "SEZNI BRIEN!?" The immigration officer now stares impatiently at Sezni. I push our creative little creature forward.

At this point I must also confess that our family completely stretches Sezni. The boy has been diagnosed with Aspergers syndrome. He needs plenty of fore-warning about anything and everything, he loves routine. He has a vivid imagination, doesn't appreciate a whole lot of human interaction (which is the boy's main struggle in our family) and obsesses over dinosaurs, fizzy drinks (pop, soda, carbonated refreshments) and movies.

Sezni has an incredible memory. He learnt Spanish because his first teacher was replaced by a couple of ladies in Mexico who knew that Sezni learnt when dinosaurs and winning were involved, and at the time, those two elements were the only factors necessary for success in his language acquisition.

However, Sezni also watched an ENORMOUS amount of television. We learnt early on that Sezni loves television and would learn Spanish in phrases from television programs. It was a similar case in English. However, Sezni repeats phrases he has memorised from television in everyday social interactions - that's not always cool...

Sezni stepped forward to the immigration officer. "Sure thing, BUTTHEAD!" The immigration officer's eyebrows raised, and I could see that he was trying to hold back laughter, and so he clenched his teeth and forced a frown. Liz and I went bright red. I immediately wanted to administer Biblical discipline, but the cameras, THE CAMERAS!

I hugged Sezni from the side and placed my hand under his arm, so that I could hold onto a small piece of his skin. Unfortunately, this made matters worse. Sezni and I play-wrestle ALL THE TIME. Because Sezni was now extremely tired, he started to giggle, not realising the seriousness, nor the context of this situation.

The immigration officer asked Sezni to remove his hat, in a very serious tone (though by this time the officer was beginning to smile and then frown with such contracted force that if you had have slipped a wig on his head, slopped some white paint on his face, lipstick on and around his mouth, and slapped (thank you Skin Cancer Foundation of Australia) a red nose on his honker, he would have looked just like a member of Dumbo's circus act, the cartoon version.

Sezni's response? "I don't think so, BUTTHEAD!" I pinched HARD and ripped the hat off. Sezni stood to attention. The show was over, the deal was done, the mystery had materialised. Sezni did exactly as he was told. He answered every question. He was respectful and polite, gave eye contact and made us proud.

As we strode away to the beginning of our American adventures the immigration officer broke with the norm and called out to us "have a great time in America!" Sezni turned slowly, a little too Jim Carey for my liking, and before he was able to cooly respond "THANKS... BUTTHEAD!!!", Liz and I both slapped our hands over his mouth and cheerfully called out "we will!"

No need to clarify. Sezni received many Biblical disciplines that day. Starting with the bathroom attached to the baggage claim. However, it highlighted to me how God wants us to be like Peter who stepped out of the boat. Liz has had such a revelation over the last month about how we as Christians tend to concentrate on the lack of faith that Peter had. What about the other disciples? They were still sitting cosily and warm, away from physical danger - in the boat! Where was THEIR faith?

Over the next couple of months I am going to write about our trip to the US. This venture has required a MAMMOTH step out of the boat for the Brien family. However, we do not seek the things of this World. Yesterday, 12 people were killed in yet another Colorado killing. Did those people, who had their lives taken from them, know Jesus Christ in a personal and real way? That is our mission, to be a part of the Great Commision, to reach the lost for the Glory of God.

And so for those of you who would like to support us through the Australian Christian Churches - International Missions (Australian arm of the Assemblies of God), please visit our facebook page, Capital on the Edge, click on "files" at the top of the page, and then download "Field Worker Support Pledge form.pdf", fill it in and send it back to them. It really is THAT easy... If you have any questions, please contact us at CapitalontheEdge@gmail.com

Thanks for reading Part 1 of Planes, Trains and Automobiles,

Jeddoxoxoxo

POST by JED: He Was Broken

I've wanted to do it a thousand times before, write about an average day at Capital on the Edge. Problem is, there just aren't any average days! So today is the day, like it or lump it.

I had gone to bed at 1:30am on Monday night. We're currently planning a trip to the USA to speak in Churches and hopefully raise some vitally needed funds for our ministry here in Managua, Nicaragua. We're believing God for miracles because we're running at a monthly deficit of $2k, and without a miracle we're sunk.

Jamil, our gardener/dance teacher, had called out my name several times shortly after 6am, just like an alarm clock. But, just like an alarm clock, I had (verbally) hit him hard and he too had gone off. I continued to snooze... By 7:30am I was merely dozing and then, like most sleepy-heads with too much going on in their brains, I sprung out of bed and into action.

I raced around the house shouting orders and getting myself ready. "Get out of bed, you LAZY CHILD!!!" I screamed in this room. "Can't find your other shoe? Well how about you START LOOKING!!!" I shouted in the next. I'm not a morning person and today I was a bear-on-brigade due to the all-night planning session I'd had.

"I'll just print off the phrases I'm teaching the kids and go over them with the staff in our morning meeting. It will be fun for them to learn a bit of English each day, and will take the tension out of 'Why were you 3 hours late yesterday?' and 'Could you please, PLEASE, put that mobile phone away at some stage today...', type conversations that would invariably arise at some point."

"Good gracious! The printer is not working!!!" I muttered to myself in a state of frustration. "Reboot, reboot, everything always works with a reboot." I rebooted, and to my complete surprise, it worked! However, I now only had 5 minutes to round up 7 children, spot-check the house for cleanliness/tidiness, and make sure we'd bought enough fruit for the morning snack.

I galloped through our living room (mostly dressed) and saw that nearly all of our staff were already seated just willing the day to begin. "Blow it", I thought. "I'm getting a coffee and having a chat." 


I strolled over to the coffee pot, just the sight nearly sent me off to a special somewhere. I poured myself a cup of steaming, hot, heavenliness. YUMMO! To all you non-coffee drinkers out there, you're nuts! You don't know what you're missing!! Best legal drug on the market!!!

Whilst still savoring my very first sip, I opened the squeaky wire door which leads from the kitchen to our spacious verandah. (where we do EVERYTHING - It's the HUB of our Community Centre...) As I began to walk through the door, I noticed that all of the Brien boys, all 5 of them, were in the pool.

The coffee must have been hot, because my head 'bout exploded. To say I was mad, would have been like saying Hitler was a murderer. I flew to the coffee table in a MOUNTAIN OF RAGE, carefully placed my coffee cup down (so as to not spill a single drop) and swung off the verandah and into the very faces of the boys I both love and cherish.

"HOW DAAAAAAAAAAAAAARE YOU!?!? Do you know what time it is? Yes, that's right! Where should you be right now? Yes, that's right! What were you thinking? Nothing? No that's not right! Well now... GET INSIDE PRONTO BEFORE I COMPLETELY LOSE MY TEMPER AND REALLY LOSE THE PLOT!" Every muscle and vein in my body was tense, pulsating and visable.

"Goodness, slight overkill", I thought to myself as I spun on my heel and be "HEAVENS!" Interrupted! Why there behind, all the while, had been a brand new student and mother standing by. "GOOD LORD NO!"

They were clearly distressed, because they'd left the comfort of the swing (which was still swinging) and were heading for our laundry, and probably the front gate after that. 


I cannot tell you how difficult it is to get an "angry, still wanting to show I'm mad and mean business", kind of face - off, and a "Welcome to your new scholastic home, a World of opportunities, yet to be unraveled and treasured", kind of face - on... (Check out the movie "Strictly Ballroom")

It was awkward, but I did it. Phrasing in Spanish for my excuses didn't automatically pop into my head, so I explained in English, throwing the odd Spanish word in for who knows what reason. I am sincerely unaware of what I was hoping to achieve by this tactic, but if I were to analyse, I think I'd arrive at the conclusion that I was trying to distract Mum by being a complete loon, so she'd forget the hideous moment which had just transpired.

I spoke rather loudly trying to deceive the dear Mum. I wanted her to think I was German and that she'd been mistaken - it's just cross-cultural phenomenon... I hadn't been scathing and scowling, I'd merely been giving my children a brisk daybreak greeting "Bon Jour" I wanted to say, but again, I couldn't place the German equivalent. So, I just said "Eins, zwei, drei, view, fünf, sechs (her eyebrows raised at this point), sieben, acht, neun y zehn? Aaaaaaaaaaaah bien!" 

I grabbed her by the arm and marched, with my feet a little too pointed at the peak of their ascension, but hey, I'd already made a complete fool of myself - what was left to damage? I rounded the bend and saw a mixture of expressions on the faces of my staff. "Francesca, can you please translate?" I enquired.

About 15 minutes later I was whizzing along on our motorbike. We've bought a horse cart, but unfortunately a local lad mounted the horse that pulls our cart, without the protecting blanket underneath the saddle. Consequently, the horse has many a sore upon it's poor back. Ouch! Poor thing. It'll be a while before we can use the ol' horse and cart to collect the wee tots. For now biking is our only option.

I rounded the bend and saw two small children I've never seen before. That's a rare thing for me in these parts. I know EVERYONE in our barrio and the surrounds. I stopped the bike and turned it off. I jumped off the machine.

The little boy, of approximately 18 months, leaned into his sister. These children were filthy. They had scabs all over their heads and leaking noses. Muck and grime completely covered them from head-to-toe. They smelt awful. The boy had no clothes on and his sister just had knickers on.

I approached the children and they cringed. I asked them where they lived. Their resopnse was to merely stare at me with scared eyes. I started to approach them again and the boy turned to run. 


"Are you okay?" I asked in Spanish. The little girl began to cry. These kids looked sick, malnourished and tired. "Where's Mummy?" I enquired. A lady came out of her "house" and called out to me. "The children live up there, in that house", she said whilst pointing.

I approached the house and knocked on the wooden panels which made up the door frame. I then wished I hadn't because one of the panels fell off into my hands. A small figure appeared before me. A woman. A sad and lonely, sickly, desperately void-of-any-hope woman.

Of course, the Jed in me wanted to throw my arms around her and cry. That is always my first instinct. I have learnt to overcome it. "Hello treasure." I said in Spanish. "Can I take your children to school with me today?" She looked like she was going to cry. She examined the ground around her feet. I could tell that something was desperately wrong. I wanted to gently push for answers, but it would have been inappropriate for me to do so at this point. She slowly nodded her head and after saying "goodbyes" I whisked the kids away.

School was mayhem that day. Three new kids and we're nearly halfway through the year. Jocasta, our fantastic creche director from Australia, was a brave soldier and worked her behind off, making these kids' first day at Capital Edge Community School a ripper time!

As a Christian school we believe it's necessary to come together, corporately, on a daily basis, to pray, read the Word of God, share in a time of Praise and Worship, and learn together about the God in whom we serve.

Our "chapel service" is consequently held on a daily basis. Today I came to the place of thinking "WOW, these kids are getting English, and the Word of God, and love, and I'm just so happy..." We sung my favourite Christian song "At the Cross" (Hillsong) and the kids blasted it with all of their strength. They sang confidently and with passion. Truly, I was blown away.

Today's chapel experience gave me one of those "I can conquer the World" type lifts I needed. The rest of the school day progressed seamlessly and I was able to turn my hand from one thing, to the next, with a smile on my face and peace in my heart.

When Liz arrived home we went to the bank and to pay our electricity bill. No problems at all. The bank gave us the documents we were seeking and the electricity company accepted our credit card. Usually there are long lines, leaving me plenty of time to really stew and get mad. Often times I prepare a speech about the inefficiencies of their system, etc. It's just to pass the time and pratice my angry emotions in Spanish. But no, wasn't to be today. All good on the administrative outing. I was almost disappointed!

When Liz and I returned home, I sat down to commence work on my itinerary for the USA. "Oh boy, Billy's at it again", I thought to myself. His voice blared and at such a high pitch. In he marched with Lorenzy by his side. 


Now Billy is a regular favourite with everyone he meets but can tend to be a bit of a drama, from time to time, and this can get on family members' (me) nerves. However, I began to sense, from the sound in his voice, that something was significantly wrong.

Earlier in the day he'd been stung by a bee. His cry was different then too. It's the sort of thing a parent knows about a child and because I'd just heard it with the bee sting, I was in tune with his pain-cry and ready to pounce on the problem.

"What's the matter Billy?" I asked affectionately. Nothing could have prepared me for what was to happen next. He raised his arm and looked at it in disbelief. "Good Lord, it's hideous!", I lamented. His arm had snapped and was very visibly broken.

I seriously wanted to run, but parental instinct kicked in and love pulled me toward the child and not away. My stomach churned. Honestly, I really don't like medical conditions, even conditions that would have others curiously looking on. "Oh, we've got an owie", I said, as I whisked Billy into my arms and started racing out the door. 

It's oft' times weird how you can concentrate with all your might and yet still be a complete clutz. This is what happened to me in this very moment. Somehow I seemed to be able to come into contact with every item and object between where I'd been sitting and the front door.

Anyhow, within seconds Liz and I were on our way to the hospital. Jocasta, once again, proved herself tremendously valuable as the latest addition to our family. We left with peace, knowing that all would be well upon our return.

We arrived at the hospital and found a car park. No problems for us, as Nicaraguans, on average, don't own cars. We raced to emergency and were seen immediately. Billy was remarkably calm, only emitting the odd whimper. What a trooper!

Billy's X-Ray

We seemed to know everyone at the hospital, as this hospital is the place we go to on a regular basis to pray for, and visit with, sick children.

We met a young lad of 20 years who's wife had just had a baby. Couldn't wipe the smile off his face. His wife arrived mid-conversation, and we couldn't get a smile onto her face. She was tired and looked like she wanted to go home. After having a relatively normal birth, a complication had developed with the baby.The little baby had been admitted to hospital and of course they, the parents of the baby, had to sleep on the floor or the bench, and were only permitted to sleep in the hallway.

We went from doctor to x-ray, to doctor, to x-ray. Finally I had the chance to sit. I slumped into a chair and began to chat with the older, Cuban doctor who sat next to me. We talked about all things Nica. Gallo Pinto, the Cuba revolution, American politics, Mexican culture, Nicaraguan landscape, flora and fauna. It was a thoroughly scintillating time.

The doctors decided that they'd have to correct the fracture, and put the bone back to where it needed to be. Horrified, I looked around me. I wanted to escape, but there just weren't any exits. I fingered the curtain next to me. I couldn't find where one curtain ended and the next began. 


My Cuban friend continued to talk but I wasn't listening. Oh sure, I nodded my head, but that's a tactic I've learnt through years of marriage. Doesn't mean I'm actually listening!

Crack, scream, cry, whimper, sleep. I wanted to throw up. It must have been one of the single-most horrific experiences of my life. Liz, of course, was leaning over watching, asking questions, curious. She made me sick too... As the cast was being applied Billy drifted off to sleep.

When the moment arrived for us to leave, I asked my new Cuban friend what he did at the hospital. Head of pediatrics was the response. Basically, I'd just spent the better half of an hour talking with pretty much the head of the hospital.

I immediately told him about our ministry within the hospital and how we'd like to expand it and help in other ways. He laughed enthusiastically and agreed with me that we could be of more use around the medical centre.

We exchanged details and left the hospital in high spirits. We'd witnessed healing and made new friendships. Liz invited several of the medical staff over for dinner on Saturday night. That will be interesting, because she's not going to be here, we've got no money to purchase food for this auspicious occasion and we have Church on that night.

We got in the car and flew up Carretera Sur. We arrived home in record time. We drove through the gate and noticed that Nestor, our guard, and some of the local lads, had very serious expressions on their faces. However, we'd had a long night and didn't make too much of it.

I dashed inside and began to, again, work on the itinerary for our impending trip to the USA. Minutes later Liz arrived by my side. "One of our neighbours has hacked off his wife's hand with a machete." 


The words my wife spoke floated into my ears and then sat heavily on my heart. "WHAT?" I exclaimed. I didn't need her to repeat the words and new exactly what she'd said, but uttered the programmed response specifically allocated for moments like these.

After talking with our guard for a while longer, we worked out that the couple had fought and the husband had chopped off the wife's hand with a machete. 


I cannot begin to tell you the sense of hopelessness that prevails in Nicaragua. I cannot tell you how many eyes I've looked into and seen despair and emptiness. Honestly, the helplessness is more heartbreaking than the stories of loss. When you look into the eyes of a living person and see death, it begins to make you question. 

Our 5 handsome fellas: Sezni, Billy, Raffy, Brian and Oliver

Our children were none-the-wiser. The police had spoken with our guard and he had not told members of our family. Thank GOD for Nestor, the best security guard in the World!!!

Darling Jocasta, our Creche Director, managed the "fort" whilst Billy was in Hospital

And so, another day at Capital on the Edge. What do we make of all this? Well, we live in a World of uncertainty. What's the old saying? There are two things we can be certain of; death and taxes. It's true. We live in a World that is dying. Everything around us dies. We die. From the moment they are born our children are on a path that leads to a physical death.

Our hope has to be in something that will last eternally. The only eternal security and value for you is Jesus Christ. He gives the gift of life, eternally.

Please pray for us here in Nicaragua. We're short thousands of dollars per month, the poverty which surrounds us is excruciatingly unbearable and we just cannot turn the needs away. We have risked everything of value in this World to reap the harvest, which is of eternal value. Please consider today, supporting us in our mission. We need your help...