Nicavangelists´ "Created" Tour Teaser

Social: Save the Children decries Deficiencies in Education

Nicaragua still has the highest teen pregnancy rate in Latin America—a level comparable to only the most backwards regions of Sub-Saharan Africa. And that, Whithead says, goes back to the failings of the education system.

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Social: Do handouts really help anyone in Nicaragua?

Tonight I'm pretty mad. I have read an article (entitled: Do handouts really help anyone in Nicaragua?) and find the piece of writing to be completely unintelligent, ill-informed and to a certain extent representative, to whatever degree, of what many expats, visitors to Nicaragua, and the socially elite Nicaraguans truly believe about poverty in this country.

We in the "West", did not elect to be born in our "blessed" countries, with our  well-to-do families, access to health services and education, low unemployment rates, etc. The "American dream" here in Nicaragua is simply that... a dream. (and no, it is not their system of government that put them in this position. The poor are poor due to a combination of factors including, but not limited to, natural disasters, poor leadership/corruption, and Western backed war - yes, we are greatly responsible for a significant part of this country's mess)

"One night a group of friends and I went to a restaurant where a group of Nicaraguan children were performing and selling goods to the tourists. I enjoyed the performances but I did not want to continue giving away my money. Instead, I decided to share some of my food with one of the children. I asked the waiter for an additional plate, and placed some of my tacos and French fries on the plate. One of the younger boys kept staring at me while I was eating. I told him to come over to my table. The little boy quickly came to the table, but as I placed the plate in front of him all of the children gathered around us and began reaching for his food. A fight broke out between the little boy and another boy. My heart was pounding because I had never seen children fight over food in this way. There were cries, yells, and screams, and punches that filled the surrounding area. I got up to sit at another table with my friends. My friends accused me of starting the fight because I had given the little boy food...

Like the Nicaraguans, some Americans are losing the initiative to do to things on their own. They rely too much on aid from the government...

We all need some guidance as we discover our paths in life, but we also face the temptation to become dependent: to accept the aid of others with never a word of thanks, but only asking for more rather than working to provide for ourselves and for those who have even less than we do."

The Bible says "Give generously to the poor, not grudgingly, for the Lord your God will bless you in everything you do." (Deuteronomy 15:10) Today I ask you to pray for the poor of Nicaragua. They did not ask to be born into poverty, but there they are. Our Nicaraguan Church population has an unemployment rate of 80%, yet you don't find many beggars there, nor dirty clothes, nor ungrateful hearts. What you will find is love, joy, peace, patience...

Our Nicaraguan Pastor has been told by 3 doctors that he needs to have his arm amputated. He has not given up, nor given in. He has found a Christian doctor who has worked tirelessly on our Pastor's arm. He needs another surgery, costing $1,800 (plus $50 per month thereafter until the pain subsides...) Please, PLEASE consider donating to the cause of this man's arm. He is a valiant chap who does the Lord's work. To donate, please CLICK here to work out a payment method suitable for you.

Social: Homelessness is NOT a Symptom of Laziness

Indeed, any talk of homelessness being caused by too much dependency on the state is simply unintelligible. European countries, in particular the Nordic ones, have a far bigger state and less problems of homelessness. That’s because the state ensures its citizens have a decent education and a reasonable job; and in the occasion that someone nears homelessness, they are given assistance so the individual will not suffer.

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POST by RAF: Mummy, Maths & MONEY

Rafael, looking pretty hard, with his knocking Nike shirt and NY beanie

One day when I was playing, my Mom telled me to do my math. When I was doing my math I got bored, so I did 3 more maths questions then I played a game on Franchesca’s phone. Then suddenly when I was playing on the phone I went to do my math again but I did not see my notebook!!!

I looked for my notebook under the sofa, in my Mom’s bedroom, even with my Granny. I looked for 3 days and 2 nights. On the fourth day my Mom found my notebook were I work and gave it to me. I sang with glee "it's all about the money, money, money" just because I culled do my maths again.

POST by SEZ: Teaching the Tiny Tykes

Rene on the Tramp

On Monday I started to teach kids front flip on the trampoline. First we had to stretch, so we stretched our hands, arms, legs, feet and we did a few jumping jacks. When we started to finish our stretches we went to the trampoline. 

When we got on we had to jump first before they would do a flip. I have a partner, do you know what his name is? It’s Rene. He helped me with the kids. We teach kids for half an hour a day so they can have great tricking.

POST by FRAN: Our Horsey Highway

Outward Journey to Collect Capital Edge Community School kids

We have six horses. Two of them can pull a cart (the ‘school bus’ as dad calls it), our bigger white and spotty horse and our black horse are the ones that were trained to pull carts. The tall white horse is better because he doesn’t mind pulling a lot of weight, and he doesn’t get mad and start kicking like the other carthorse.

Every day we use the horse and cart to collect the kids for school. School bus duty is twice a day in a school week. Yader’s whistle is the ‘bus horn’. We put cushions on the cart so that our little bottoms don’t bump against the wood.

At eight thirty, Yader hooks up the horse to the cart, I grab the reins and off we go. I’m only permitted to drive when it’s just Yader and me on the cart. Lorenzy had an accident where the rope burned her leg when the kids were on the cart and Rene almost flipped the cart over the same day.

Antonio & Jorbin running behind the cart

I drive until we get to the bottom of a large hill that leads into la Canada (the n makes a weird noise in CANADA like nnaaa). At the top of the hill, Yader lets Francesca, the student, know that we will wait for her at the bottom of the hill. He communicates this by whistling. He rolls his tongue underneath his teeth, he closes his lips over the tongue but not completely, that forms a canal in his tongue in-between his jaws and blows out a whistle sound that makes me deaf.

We wait at the bottom of the hill for Francesca. When I see her come down with her mum I start plodding up the death-climbing hill. We meet half way “HOLA FRAN!” and then come back down, her dainty hand holding mine.

We both jump on the cart to go pick up the loud bunch of bananas! Antonio, Jorbin, Diego, and Aaron. They take forever to get outside and on the cart. Antonio and Aaron’s mum is the cook but she doesn’t like going on the cart.

Squiggly Trees, with their roots - beautiful!

We turn around and start our way out of La Canada, up the hill again, but this time Yader is driving. The hill is a beautiful, dirty hill, it is steep and not that long but it has the ‘snake trees’ as Rafi calls them. One can see the roots from the squiggly trees, they are beautiful.

At the top of the hill there is a drop off where you can see trees and houses and in the rainy season you can see a river.

Next stop Moises and Luisita’s house. Sometimes their older sister and brother come as well, and when they do come, that makes eleven people on the cart, poor horse!

Next to Nayelly. Now Nayelly is the youngest girl in the school but she is never in the same house! So we sometimes pick her up at her grandmother's house or at her mum's house. Nayelly doesn’t know her dad, her mum is sadly a prostitute. Nayelly is the sweetest thing that you will ever know!

After we pick up Nayelly we head home all twelve or thirteen of us - I lost count! We usually get back around nine fifteen and sometimes nine thirty depending on how fast we go.

When we get home the kids jump off the cart, some in tears and some beaming with joy! When they are all off the cart, Yader drives the cart over to the garage or shed-looking-thing. We ‘undress’ the horse and put the things that we used away and we tie the horse up outside so that he can eat. Then we do the whole routine again at midday after all the kids have eaten.

I love going on the cart because I get to see and meet more friends and get to know the place a lot more, like in La Canada - when it rains, it RAINS! The whole street turns into a living river and the boys, Antonio, Jorbin, Diego and Aaron, can’t get to their house so dad drives them home in the car. And if it rained the night before, there will be large pools of water outside of my house and in Moises and Luisita’s street.

I’ve learnt a lot about where we live through driving the 'school bus.'

Our faithful, beautiful steed, such a blessing to Capital Edge Community School kids

POST by RENZ: Family First, PARTY!

Lorenzy with her grandparents from the UK, Richard & Sue

Here in Nicaragua, when you turn fifteen years old, you have a quinceanera. If you don’t know what that is, it is a big party because you are now old enough to do what you want to do (well, sort of). Like you are allowed to make your own choices. Most of the time only the girls celebrate it but some guys do it as well, but it is not that common.

First, what happens is the birthday person wears a HUGE dress, and I mean huge, somewhat like a wedding dress. Then you go to a church to have blessings and things like that and then you go to the actual party. It is pretty much the same as a wedding but you do not get married.

You have fourteen other people, who are very close to you, and they walk with you into the party. You are the fifteenth person and each person represents a year of your life. They are usually wearing the same dresses (the girls) and the boys the same suits, except for the people at the front like the little person at the front who might have a wand, and they lead the other people and he or she walks alone.

The rest of the people go with their partners most of the time. Once the birthday girl/guy is in the party, she or he has a special dance with the person that walked into the party with them. Then when all that is done you just have a normal party.

Francesca is fourteen and in November she is turning fifteen and she decided to have her quince. My parents have invited a bunch of people from different places like England, Australia, and the United States. Even people we don’t know but that my Dad knows were invited!

Our grandparents from both sides are coming and so is my Uncle and Aunt and my cousins and I am so excited to see everyone again because it has been a very long time since I have seen them. The first family members that are coming are my grandparents from my mum’s side. I was told that they were going to come on Tuesday at night.

Every night we watch one episode of Frasier and one episode of Seinfeld before going to bed. On Monday night we were in the middle of watching an episode of Frasier when my mum went to her computer like she always does and got onto her e-mail.

None of us noticed but none of us really cared, because we were so intrigued with the show. All of a sudden, right in the middle of the show my mum screamed and came running to us still screaming like a headless chick. Then, when she had gotten our attention she ran back and my sister and I followed her asking her “WHAT?! WHAT HAPPENED?! TELL US!!!!”.

She stopped screaming and went back to dad and said that my uncle had sent her a message saying that my grandparents were at the airport waiting for us to pick them up and asking if we were going to pick them up.

She was confused because the flight information had said that they were arriving the next day so she did not know what to do. We did not have our car because it was getting fixed and so it would be harder to get them.

My mum said it was probably a mistake or something, but my dad said that if Uncle Nick wrote the message, then it was most likely that he had been contacted by my grandparents to tell us, since they probably didn’t have anyway to tell us.

We sat there for a while wondering what to do. We decided not to go and get them so we went back to watching our show.

In the morning my mum, Rafael, Billy, and Ericson, went to the airport to go and get them because we had been told that they were staying at the hotel across the road from the airport.

My mum borrowed a car from somebody and went to go get them. When I saw them I felt so happy and couldn’t wait to catch up with them. I love it when people from different countries come. Especially family! 

Economy: Total of 25,000 tons of Russian wheat delivered to Nicaragua

Russia's Ambassador to Nicaragua Nikolai Vladimir told Itar-Tass earlier that the humanitarian supplies of Russian grain cover the country's needs for it almost in full.

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Very Strong Quake rolls through Nicaragua

Nicaragua’s southern Pacific coast was hit by a 6.4-magnitude earthquake that rolled through at 6:45 p.m. this evening. As of 7:00 p.m., no damages or injuries had been reported. “That was not a normal quake. That was very, very strong,” INETER seismologist Carlos Guzman told The Nicaragua Dispatch.

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POST by RAF: Habitacion de mi Hermano

Sezni's habitat

One nice day, my dad and my mom were thinking what to do with there house and with all the money.

My dad thought a person named Eduardo and the gardener can make beds for sezni and my mom thought we can buy wood.

First in the next day my dad said to my mom lets buy wood for sezni’s bed so he went into the car and went to buy wood.

When my dad was were people buy wood there were 100s of wood. I think my dad bot 25 wood and went into the car to bring wood into the house.

Then my dad went into the car to get Eduardo. After, the gardener and Eduardo made the bed out of wood.

Last Eduardo called sez and said get up, that day was sezni’s best day ever.

Sezni's new bed (actually, a remodeled monkey enclosure)

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.” 

POST by JED: Planes, Trains & Automobiles - Part 10

Ever met an angel? I have. Her name is Marsha Hug-fan.

In 2001 we´d been so excited about our dramatically life changing move to Rochester, New York. I was still green on all things aviation, but knew who I wanted to spend time in the air with, Singapore Airlines - Wrong direction? Yes! "Darn it," I thought to myself  "we'll just have to fly around the World..."

If you´ve never flown with Singapore Airlines, you´ve never truly flown. I tell you the truth, they had to summons Airport Police in Changi, on account of my refusal to leave the aircraft – hundreds of television channels, internet access, snack bars, comfortable décor, flight attendants who would  do just about anything for you - from fluffing your pillow to massaging your weary feet. I could have been mistaken for thinking I'd died and gone to Heaven.

Fran had snuggled into her "seat", head-set adorning her petite little mug, not wasting a word or moving a muscle from Melbourne to Singapore. Lorenzy slumbered in her wall-mounted-cot for the entire journey, completely oblivious to Mummy´s desperate pleas for a light refreshment from Mummy's very own built in snack bar (nursing), hence making Mummy's aviation trip that little bit less comfortable.

We had planned to fly with our best friends Guy and Jen, though I had booked our flights via Sydney (my favourite city) and they had booked their flights via Melbourne (their favourite city). Upon discussion with Guy (who also loves aviation) we'd learnt of this wee little blunder.

Did we coordinate our attempts to rectify the situation? No sir-ee! Without any further discussion we both, independently, switched our flights so that they ended up flying via Sydney and we ended up flying via Melbourne.

Guy and Jen's flight had been hell (the Lord works in mysterious ways). They offloaded in Singapore and slumped into a heap of tears. Hannah, their vivacious daughter, had experienced ear troubles throughout the flight, resulting in many flight attendant summonsing moments, aboard the glistening white machine.

Subsequently, we all sighed relief. They, thrilled to be back on God´s green Earth and we, glad not to have shared their treacherous Singapore experience.

The island city and country of Singapore is a mini Asian America, having everything one could ever want and more. It's clean, modern, efficient, culturally vibrant and historically alive.

Guy and Jen worked a rather busy schedule in Singapore, spending time with friends, engaging in a little business and experiencing the many sights.

I, on the other hand, am not a tourist. Love to travel, hate to look. Would rather spend my day in gay Paris sipping lattes in a coffee shop and watching the Parisian day crawl by. In Seoul, take me to a Korean BBQ anytime, where I'll eat with chop sticks and try to make sense of foreign conversation. New York City is a favourite, I want to stroll around the Park and visit the Village of an eve, for the trendiest, tastiest, most tantalising dish.

And so our little attaché spent days in our Singapore hotel´s café - chatting with our Balinese waitress; swimming atop the hotel in their decadent pool – working on our Canberra-based-winter-tan; visiting the nighttime zoo – I don´t like zoos in the daytime, let alone at night; and relaxing on Sentosa Island - enjoying the water park which was so dangerous seven people had been killed, that year alone, on one of their rides.

It was a difficult thing for us to do, parting company with our terrific friends, Guy and Jen. Horrendous, to leave behind the intricacies of salient Singapore, only to be heading for historic Europe, to visit with Liz´s family. However, because we were flying with Singapore Airlines, we hugged and kissed in Changi, and ran so fast to the boarding gate that Lorenzy´s nappy became a bodice.

The comfort, the luxury, the queues at London´s Heathrow immigration hall! I held Lorenzy, just 6 months old, upon my shoulder and wouldn´t allow Fran to sit on account of her falling asleep every time her botty touched the floor. It was inevitable. Fran began to cry.

Now I must let short haul and non-fliers in on a secret. Fourteen hour flights can turn seemingly delectable daddies into bristly bears. I was groggy and about to lose it, when a Heathrow immigration official pushed our weary contingent to the head of queue - the British, kings and queens of courteousness.

More hugs, and a very quick ride past Windsor Castle to Bristol. Due to jetlag (If it can be helped I try NEVER to sleep on a Singapore Airlines flight. Why, I may miss the humidly hot towels, or a glass of glimmering house red, a classic television comedy, etc.), I always believe my father in-law is trying to kill me, and subconsciously - I really think he is!

Europeans are the fastest drivers in the World. My father in-law, who has also lived in Germany, is no exception. The motorway from London to Bristol (near Wales) is like a dragway. The Police only stop cars to give tickets for dangerous driving (too slow). My desire for humidly hot towels is put at bay when I feel my own body creating a humidly hot towel out of the tracksuit pants I'm wearing.

England represents a beautiful part of my life. It is everything Lizzie. Orderliness, efficiency, truthfulness, hospitality, etc. It never ceases to be a wonderful experience, though thoroughly exhausting from all the catching up we have to do, with people I've either never met, or only met once or twice.

After a couple of blissful weeks with Liz's family, we board another plane from Birmingham (on an around-the-world itinerary you can't fly through the same airport twice, except to transit). This time we´re bound for Germany to visit my uncle´s new girlfriend, Ute (ew-tah), and her family.

Lufthansa, Germany's pride and joy, injects us into what feels like a rubber band. It´s quick, punctual, plain looking and completely rubber. The seats are rubber, the floor is rubber, even the flight attendant´s shoes look rubbery (some croc-like design. That´s Germans for you - I laughed at them back then, now I own 2 pairs of the blinkin things! Just on Germaneness, did you know Lufthansa dreamed up the ¨Star Alliance¨ and had the first ever frequent flyer program? In my mind, Germans will forever be the most innovative people on Earth).

We disembarked in Stuttgart and were slapped across the face with a volcanically thick cloud of smoke. We nearly past out on account of the fumes, completely unable to navigate the so-simple-a-child-could-do-it terminal building. We arrived in the loving arms of Ute, my beautiful German Aunt, who grew up in the southwest of Germany, but who had lived her adult life in Berlin.

In Germany we enjoyed visiting a Black Forrest winery where we dined on sauerkraut and pork sausages, sitting at long, festive, communal tables. No reservations were necessary, neither was there a seating plan. Patrons simply arrived with hearty attitudes and laughed from-the-gut all night long.

In fact, we had such a good time that by the end of the evening I knew several Germanic tunes and had hugged and kissed just about everyone in the establishment, from dish pig to heiress.

We were blessed with the opportunity to drink mulled wine in a quaint, vintage castle, whilst listening to a Church´s outdoor carols service, under the dark sky, which was sprinkling us with small, dry, Yuletide, snowflake souvenirs from Heaven.

We sat with one of my aunt´s beautiful, overly educated, doctor friends, whom Lizzie had to interrupt on account of war like external bell clanging, so as to enquire ¨why the delightful sounds of Church bells ringing in the middle of the day?¨ (thinking wedding, funeral, Church service, etc.) The faces of our hosts turned deathly solemn as a quietness floated oppressively into the room. The response through pursed lips, ¨it´s in memory of all the people who died when England bombed our small village.¨ I watched as Elizabeth tried to swallow, unfortunately saliva became lodged in her throat. She picked up my steaming cup of hot coffee, Lizzie hates coffee, and finished the entire cup in one great gulp, scolding her throat in the process. Ah yes, Germany – a gorgeous country, rich with history and culture.

Back to England on British Midland. A very short flight, but this time with all the trimmings.

The head flight attendant, clearly from London's east end, hollered over the inflight PA system, "Welcun toooooh Lon-un's Heafrow hairport. Currently twalve past the ow-er, please keep ya seats til cap-ain's turned owf the sea-belt soin." Splendid. Shall do. Thank you.

We spent Christmas in England and oh what joy. Lizzie was beautiful as she rolled with the events of each day and night. I resisted. I fought. Not a present from Jeddy was bought!

Australian Christmases to me, in comparison with Northern Hemisphere Christmases, are far less commercial. Our Christmas period usually constitutes a few days or possibly a week for holidays (vacations). Christmas day usually means a pool of water (the Pacific, the Indian, the Great Southern, a backyard pool, the Cotter dam, a river somewhere, an inflatable wading pool, we're not fussy - just need somewhere to get wet. It´s our tradition!

We do buy presents, but our ceremony of unwrapping, with hugs and kisses, takes less than 3 minutes, and the hour this activity occurs depends on the quantity and age of children in the house. Then it´s simply breakfast, swimming, lunch, swimming, dinner, swimming and a video, board game, political conversation, or what-have-you.

Well, I thought I´d died. We´d (Liz's Mum, Luke and I) gone to midnight mass on Christmas Eve and were in bed by 2am. Of course who should be up at 3? Ho no, I know what you´re thinking – Lorenzy, just six months old, needed her nappy changed? Incorrect! Francesca, 3 years old, had a nightmare and needed comforting? Nope! Lizzie, desperately excited to be home with the fam, had to cause a raucous and wake the entire house? BINGO!

Now as a mature, Australian Christian man, I just couldn´t agree to it. For my immediate family had stopped even celebrating Christmas at all, on account of our new found freedom in celebrating only pagan-commercially-gluten-free-holidays, which, in fact, don't actually exist.

So as the story goes, everyone knows that Santa doesn´t bother to come down your chimney if you're up and about. Therefore, it was my duty to self-righteously pull Liz´s pillow firmly over my head and refuse to be moved (I know, I was an idiot. The stupid arguments you have in your first few years of marriage – far more tantalising that the stupid arguments you have in the latter years of marriage…).

When I did finally awake, at 6am, I moseyed on into the lounge room and was completely bamboozled by what I saw. A sea of paper… unwrapped, wrapping paper… It had not been folded up for use next year, like I´d been trained to do in my childhood. It was a swirling, whirling, gurgling mess.

Heads and limbs poked out of it everywhere. The mish-mashed paper also made a noise: laughter. There were currents of tree fodder, moving along seemingly in streams, for deep beneath lurked an impenetrable force, kids! Our little Francesca swam, under the surface, fishing for stray bits of food (LOLLIES! CANDY!) and useless toy fun (cheap Chinese craft – perfect for entertaining kids on a cold winter´s day). She hadn't even BRUSHED HER TEETH!!!

We packed up our fun and spent the rest of the day eating, drinking, unwrapping and playing. Yes, I felt like the grinch, dutifully grumbling at each new festive tradition. At the time I was disgusted by all of this foolish selfishness and joy, now, when in the Northern Hemisphere, I embrace it (not totally, but nearly).

And so it was, without wife or kids and with a very pained heart, I boarded America's United Airlines flight, bound for Washington DC. I was to scout out the land, organising our new life, with family to follow just three weeks later.

My heart was sad to be leaving Liz, but even sadder to be flying with United Airlines. "Welcome aboard" said the eighty year old flight attendant, who had clearly undergone cosmetic surgery on her nose, eyes, lips, cheeks, neck, chest, stomach, buttocks and thighs. The moment she stopped smiling, which was every 5 seconds, her face fell in a heap - poor darling.

It actually wasn't too bad and I'm ashamed to say it, I was rather impressed. We were on a new 777 jet, with some of the snazzy gadgets sporting snazzy Singapore Airlines aircraft. I sat next to a twenty-something, professional lady from Boston, and we laughed and chatted for the duration of the flight.

My transit in DC wasn't too bad either. I was lucky enough to ride aboard some sideways moving bus and was blessed to be seated next to a returning Greek exchange student. He gleefully told me all about Rochester and how much fun lay before me. He was correct.

My student exchange coordinator, Pat,  was a love. I liked her the very second I laid eyes on her. She's a dove - completely harmless and gentle. She probably wanted to show me the door on many an occasion, but I'd just sit on a swivel chair in her office, ignoring her subtle cues, and chatting for hours-on-end. I shared everything with Pat, I think she's still shell-shocked to this day about my honesty. Even now we communicate regularly and I am blessed to call her a friend (more in a later post).

When I asked her about a Church to attend, she shared with me about CCC (Christ Community Church). On Sunday morning I trotted along from Buck's bed & breakfast accommodation to CCC.

Well, my trot actually turned into a gallop. I'd accidently left my new jacket at Heathrow by mistake. A young African American woman chased me along the street. Being new to New York, I thought she wanted to mug me and ran as fast as I could until I eventually ended up flat on my back on account of a frozen puddle.

My "mugger" stood over me. "Do you need a jacket?" she asked warmly. "You mean you're not going to kill me and steal all my money?" I implored. She tried to smile, I know she did, but the joy would never arrive on her face, due to the subzero chill factor.

It was the middle of winter and Americans living near the Great Lakes receive what is known as "lake effect snow" - storms blow in from the north pole and whip up humidity from Lake Ontario, just north of the city, dumping it on the folks of Rochester (and other cities), making physical life of all forms gorgeous, yet causing chaos for the punctual, orderly, New Yorkers).    

I was late and the sermon was already underway. Pastor John, the lead pastor, was talking about the 25 year history of the Church and the vision he had for the future. There would be new leadership and he would be sent out as an Apostle of the Church, to Latin America and beyond.

We sang a song and then... Tap, tap, tap, tapped my toes. I glanced about the 70s plaid auditorium - nothing fashionable about the place except for the youth. It seemed like the building had been transported through time, replacing another modern building. However, the people didn't seem to notice and so I cared less.

Everyone was smiling and milling around, chatting and giggling, "oh is that so, blah, blah, blah... Well you should have seen rah, rah, rah..." I hadn't a friend in the entire northeast of America, let alone in Rochester. "Sit still, moron!" I commanded myself. "Do not be hasty!" I self-rebuked. The truth was, I didn't have enough money for another night's accommodation and desperately needed somebody in the congregation to let me kip on their couch. A lot was riding on this moment and for some reason it took all of my strength just to say put in the pew.

I hung my head and began to pray. I know, very spiritual - BUT, I was in Church. I had only gotten up to the "even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death" part, when my angel, Marsha Hug-fan, tapped me irritatingly on the shoulder. "WHO DOETH DARETH INTRUDE UPON the PRAYERS OF THIS SAINT?" I wondered. Looking up, I became completely overcome with love.

"Hello", she spoke with authority. "How are you?" She warmly demanded. "Oh, well - very goo..." no time for dilly-dallying, "Who are you?" She asked. "Well (getting a little nervous now), my name is Jed Brien and I am an exchange student from Australia."

Marsha's face simultaneously became brighter and curious, "AUSTRALIA!?! Have you heard of Hillsong?" she begged. "Oh, yes, I attended for2 years du..." She interrupted again, "we sing those songs here! What a coincidence..."  My mind raced. "Who is this psychotic little Christian?" I speculated.

The jerk was immense. Marsha had me by the elbow with an inescapable grip. I winced at the pain. She called out, "Chad, I've got somebody to introduce you to!" Confused I tried to respond, "Oh actually my name's not..." Confronted by this man monster I nearly lost my voice. I introduced myself as Jed, which neither of them seemed to notice, and nearly curtsied on account of pain induced brain malfunction from both elbow gripping and strongman-contest-hand-shaking. "How do you do?" I enquired.

"Oh Pastor Mark, let me introduce you to Chad, he's from the Hillsong choir." Marsha was working the Church folk like nothing I've ever seen. She was better a better host than I'd ever come across! "Ummm... I'm not from Hi..." Pastor Mark approached, "Well pleased to meet you Chad. What are you here for?" My friends of CCC didn't quite believe my history, I don't think. He listened to my tale and took charge, "Okay, I'll ask the boys if you can stay with them..."

(Embarrassing side-moment: Was dozing on the couch watching Oprah at the lads' pad, when for no good reason I began to cry. Not just cry, I bawled like a baby. Not just a baby, a toddler with tooth ache and fever... Who should walk in upon me? Jerry, friend of chad, who is also a man-monster... I have never lived that moment down...)

Thinking my elbow was free I began to slowly turn around - however, Marsha hadn't released her grip, she'd just loosened it. Sensing the end of my conversation she turned from her chat with another party, mid-sentence, and hauled me off to greeting number 3.

"Donni" she exclaimed, "let me introduce you to Darlene Zschech's brother!" Okay, I'm exaggerating now, but Marsha certainly had a way with instantly cementing my position in the Church - believe me when I say, EVERY CHURCH NEEDS a MARSHA!

By the end of my time with Marsha, I had met every single person at CCC. Unfortunately, she'd misheard my name and had incorrectly introduced me as "Chad" to all we'd come across.

The following week it was "ARE YOU SERIOUS? We had another Australian visitor just last week. He looked just like you! But his name was Chad, not Jed. WHAT A COINCDENCE!" No, that's not true either, but as my father always says "never spoil a story on account of the truth!" My father never said that...

Marsha Hug-fan IS an angel. Just a couple of years prior to meeting Marsha, she lost the love of her life, Dan. It was one of those painful moments in Marsha's community's lives, when everyone sits around saying "why him?"

I never knew Dan. But from every account he was a hard worker, an excellent husband and father, a devoted Christian, the leader of a community. Hard to comprehend. There were no explanations, God had called him home.

But did the physical confinements of this Earth stop Marsha from hearing her eternal call? No flippin' way! I've known Marsha now for nearly twelve years and it never ceases to amaze me how much she pours into the lives of others, irrespective of her own needs. From the moment I met Marsha she has given everything to me.

Upon my first visit to her house, I felt loved. Dinner time mirrored the feeding of the five thousand. I tried to lend a hand, but that wasn't my place. "Jed, why don't you sit down at the table?" she requested, not questioned. I was always one of her kids.

Since that day I've always considered Marsha to be my American mother. I'd always try to talk to her as a peer, but she just has that knowing parental way. In my life, she's given of herself not only to me, but to my wife, kids, and extended family. Literally, given. Lodging, car loans, groceries, furniture for our apartment, baby-sitting and the green stuff too.

On our trip to the USA in July and August, Marsha hosted a time for us kids to "play." It was yet again the feeding of the five thousand, with all of Marsha's kids there, and their spouses, her grandkids, friends, etc.

I walked in on my Mother Marsha Hug-fan (America's answer to Mother Theresa) sitting on the couch with Liz. She was explaining to her that she'd just sold the very house we were chatting in. She explained that the Lord had told her very specifically to give us a VERY large sum of money. "Oh boy..." I thought. I grabbed the woman and shook her, violently slapping her across the face to bring some sense to the crazy ol' bag (no, not true, though we did verbally too-and-fro a wee-bit), but realised in this moment that my stance was hopeless.

This woman, my American mother, a true discipler, was taking care of business. Not her business, not our business, not her deceased husband's business... She was taking care of the business of her father - who art in Heaven. Hallowed be HIS name. Special thanks to you, my American Mum, for always believing in me and for having my back. 

I love you so much! 

Jeddoxo

Support Nica-Talent (Yader)

Today we are asking you to consider supporting (sponsoring) a Latin Dancer (bachata, salsa, merengue, etc), Yader - a lad who comes from the poor barrio of Cedro Galan, on the outskirts of Managua, and who is a gifted dancer, having his whole life in front of him.

Yader is a young man of just 16 years, unemployed and in his second last year of high school. Yader now lives at Capital Edge Community Village, helping to train young students in dancing whilst also being discipled.

Nicaragua is a country that lacks male Christian leadership and is currently on a course set for destruction. We need to physically support the young Christian men who are already serving the Lord, and help them to achieve positions of influence in their communities, whereby they can make a difference. Are you prepared to sponsor Yader for just $100 per month?

Then the King will say to those on His right hand, 'Come, you blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.' Matthew25:34-36

We need your help. Yader is a young man with great potential. He is a Christian young man, believing with his whole heart in the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He has the ability to affect change on those within his sphere of influence. Please consider your role in the life ofvYader - we simply cannot do it without you.

To support Yader please do one of the following:

1. E-mail us: CapitalontheEdge@gmail.com

2. Visit our Webpage and make a contribution (we will contact you via e-mail):

Capital-on-the-Edge.blogspot.com

3: Contact our Church to arrange a payment plan: CapitalEdge.org.au

Who are we? We are Capital on the Edge... We were sent out in 2008 by Capital Edge Community Church in Canberra, Australia (CapitalEdge.org.au), to help fulfill the Great Commission, sharing the love of Jesus and making disciples.

Based in Nicaragua, Central America, the poorest Spanish Speaking Country in the World, we currently serve as a community center, community school, and foster home.

Many thanks for the time you have taken to watch our video...

Capital on the Edge xoxoxoxoxo

Support Nica-Talent (Jonny)

Today we are asking you to consider supporting (sponsoring) a B-boy Dancer (new form of Break Dancing), Jonny - a lad who comes from the streets of Managua's Mercado Oriental, and who is a gifted dancer, having his whole life in front of him.

Jonny is a young man of just 19 years, unemployed and in his second last year of high school. Jonny now lives at Capital Edge Community Village, helping to train young students in dancing whilst also being discipled.

Nicaragua is a country that lacks male Christian leadership and is currently on a course set for destruction. We need to physically support the young Christian men who are already serving the Lord, and help them to achieve positions of influence in their communities, whereby they can make a difference. Are you prepared to sponsor Jonny for just $100 per month?

Then the King will say to those on His right hand, 'Come, you blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: for I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.' Matthew25:34-36

We need your help. Jonny is a young man with great potential. He is a Christian young man, believing with his whole heart in the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He has the ability to affect change on those within his sphere of influence. Please consider your role in the life of Jonny - we simply cannot do it without you.

To support Jonny please do one of the following:

1. E-mail us: CapitalontheEdge@gmail.com

2. Visit our Webpage and make a contribution (we will contact you via e-mail):

Capital-on-the-Edge.blogspot.com

3: Contact our Church to arrange a payment plan: CapitalEdge.org.au

Who are we? We are Capital on the Edge... We were sent out in 2008 by Capital Edge Community Church in Canberra, Australia (CapitalEdge.org.au), to help fulfill the Great Commission, sharing the love of Jesus and making disciples.

Based in Nicaragua, Central America, the poorest Spanish Speaking Country in the World, we currently serve as a community center, community school, and foster home.

Many thanks for the time you have taken to watch our video...

Capital on the Edge xoxoxoxoxo