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...