POST by JOSE: Trauma Mia (Mumma)

Jose, of Capital on the Edge, flying with Taca

My mum’s childhood was one of the cruelest experiences that I have ever heard of. Everything started when she was just 8 years old. My grandmother got together with a man who wanted to abuse my mum. He would tell her to leave the house and he would not give her anything to eat. My mum told my grandmother about it all, but she did not believe that she did not have a normal childhood.

My mum escapes her parents’ house:

Every time my grandfather told her to leave the house, she would sleep on the streets and would be really hungry and would suffer. She decided to escape all the suffering and abuse.

Relationship of my mum and dad:

My mum ran away from her house at the age of 10. She had a boyfriend who is my dad. He gave her a place to stay and they lived together. He was 19 years old and my mum was only 11.

Abuse to my mum:

After a while, my mum became pregnant. She was only 13 years old. She bore her first son, my first brother, who died. This death affected my mum a heap. At the age of 14, she had me.

Then my dad started to change and he would hit her and treat her bad. There were a lot of times where he would grab her hair and pull her across the room and sometimes he would try to kill her. She had my brother at the age of 17, yet her boyfriend kept on abusing her.

The abondoning:

At the age of 18, she decided to run away from the abuse. She went to another country leaving us with him. Years passed and we did not hear anything about our mother. My dad said that she had been bad to us and that she had abandoned us.

After many years my brother and I grew up. One day I was playing and I saw an elegant and beautiful lady and she approached me and said "son, how are you?" and at that moment I felt really happy and all the hatred I held for my mother, disappeared.

Forgiveness to my mother:

My mum took us with her and we were all very happy. Though, she was the happiest out of us all. The most important thing is that she forgave my grandparents for all of the damage that they had done to her, and the traumatising pain that they left her with.

Years passed and the economic situation became more and more difficult. There were times where we would go hungry and she would always prefer to give us her food so that she would be hungry instead of us.

My mum is my hero and a marvelous woman. I love her a lot. We are extremely poor but at least we are together. I will always help her. I love her.

Forgiveness sets you free:

The best advice you can get is that it does not matter what your mother does, nor what she is, she will always be there to protect you and take care of you. She is your best friend and forgiving makes you feel free. Thank you God for giving us all marvelous mothers!

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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. 

This story was translated by Lorenzy and edited by Jed.

Jose enjoying dinner with Siren Assembly of God

La niñez de mi mama fue una de las más crueles y duras todo empezó cuando ella tenía 8 años mi abuela se juntó con un hombre quien quiso abusar de mi mama repetidas beses, el la corría de la casa y no le daba de comer mi mama le decía a mi abuela y ella no le creía ella no tuvo una infancia normal.

Escape de mi mama de la casa de sus padres:

Cada vez que mi abuelo la corría ella dormía en la calle y pasaba hambre y sufrimiento, ella decidió huir de todo su maltrato y sufrimiento.

Relación de mi mama y mi papa:

Mi mama huyo de la casa a los 10 años ella tenía un novio que era mi papa el le dio refugio y vivieron juntos el tenía 19 años y mi mama 11 años.

Maltrato de mi mama:

Después de un tiempo ella quedo embarazada a los 13 años de mi primer hermano quien murió en el parto eso la afecto mucho a los 14 años me tubo a mi, mi papa comenzó a cambiar y le empezaba a pegar y la maltrataba mucho hubo veces que la agarraba del cabello y la arrastraba barias veces la intento matar, ella tubo a mi hermano a los 17 años mi papa cada vez la maltrataba mas.

El abandono:

A los 18 años ella decidió huir de ese martirio y se fue a otro país dejándonos con el , pasaron los años y no sabíamos nada de ella mi papa nos decía que mi mama había sido mala con nosotros y que nos había abandonado, mi hermano y yo crecimos paso el tiempo, un día yo estaba jugando y mire a una mujer elegante y bella ella se me acerco y me dijo hijo como estas en ese momento me sentía muy feliz todos los rencores desaparecieron.

Perdón hacia mi madre:

Ella nos llevó con ella y éramos felices ella lo más importante perdono a mis abuelos de todo el daño que le hicieron y los traumas que le dejaron, pasaron los años y su situación económica se iba haciendo más difícil habían beses que pasábamos hambre ella prefería darnos su comida y ella pasar hambre ella es mi héroe, es una mujer maravillosa la quiero mucho somos pobres pero unidos y siempre la apoyare en todo.

El perdón te hace libre: uno de los mejores consejos es que no importa lo que nuestra madre haga o sea ella siempre estará ahí para protegernos, amarnos y cuidarnos es nuestra mejor amiga y el perdonar te hace sentir libre. (gracias a dios por darnos un ser tan maravilloso nuestras madres).

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! 

POST by RENZ: Fiesty Fiesta Fighting

Lorenzy-Ella at a Party in Nicaragua

Here in Nicaragua parties are different from the States or Australia. I don’t know what makes it different but it just is, maybe because of all the Nicaraguan dancing and the things that they do. At pretty much every birthday party, they have music and dancing, even if it is a baby or toddler that is having a birthday - they just really treat it like a dancing party. They do not have themes for parties, the only theme that they have is dancing and they like it like that, and sometimes I do too. 

On Saturday, in the evening, we were invited to a birthday party. It started at six o’clock but first we went to church so we got there at like eight thirty or nine.  It was a friend of mines´ brother and he had turned 16 or 17.  Dad and all of the little boys stayed at home.

The place where the party was at, was just a concrete building but it was open and it was only one room. At the party people were dancing and just having fun. Somebody that I had met at other parties before asked me to dance so I danced with him.

Then we changed partners and I danced with another dude, Pio. He is 12 years old, the same age as me, but he’s REALLY short. We were having fun and my sister and mum were dancing too. We had brought Yordy with us as well but he just stayed outside. I was having so much fun that I did not see my mum and sister leave the building until Pio asked me were they were. I said that I did not know so we went to look for them.

We went outside and found them sitting with Yordy on a log. I asked them why they were sitting down outside and they said it was because they felt sick because of what they ate, the very food I’d cooked. I went back inside and started dancing again. A friend of mine named Adriana was dancing with another friend of mine called Elvis. The four of us kept on changing partners and then we got into a big line and started dancing. We were having so much fun when all of a sudden everyone left the building.

We went outside to see what was happening and of course it was a fight. Two guys were on the floor wrestling. I asked somebody what they were fighting about and they said it was something about a girl that they were fighting about.

I found my mum and she said that they were drunk even though the party had not given out any alcohol. We were just standing there watching them fight and then my mum went up to them and said in Spanish “Hey guys! Stop fight-“, but was stopped midsentence by my friend’s mum, Maria. She grabbed Mum and was screaming “LIZ DON’T DO IT!!!” This interaction between my Mum and Maria was hilarious.

We tried to go home but every time we tried to leave to go home, the fight got in our way. Finally, when everyone was able to leave, we went running. One of the guys that was fighting was right next to us. They had gotten machetes and fought with them and gotten cut a lot. I heard the one next to us say that they would go to the Punta Plancha, where we live, and wait for the one he was fighting there.

Once we were inside some people that had gone with us asked Fran to cut his hair so we all went outside to see how she would do it and then we heard a gunshot right outside of our property. We all got freaked out and then one guy joked, “Liz! They’re robbing your house!” They all started laughing because she did not understand. What a night.

POST by JED: Planes, Trains & Automobiles - Part 7

We returned from Minnesota to Rochester toot-sweet. No time for dilly-dallying in Chicago. We put out our elbows and blended with the locals, knocking over small children, the handicapped, fragile vases purchased in "duty free," and the elderly - just so we'd make our connection.

To our surprise Lukey, Liz's most handsome brother, was waiting for us at the Greater Rochester International Airport. Luke, as I explained in an earlier post, is married to a New Yorker, Jaime, and together they have spawned a couple of beautiful little Angels, Tagdh &  Allegra.

Jed & Liz in the Greater Rochester International Airport on a famous Park Bench

We (Liz & Luke) ran around the terminal acting emphatically Eurovision, striking poses for photographs, which were momentarily discarded. Our foolish antics finally ended on some of Rochester's 100 gaudy park benches, the city's very own original artwork, replacing 100 kitschy galloping steeds. Who knows where the burst of energy came from - it was a fun, frivolous moment.

Luke & Lizzie in the Greater Rochester International Airport - looking Euphorically Eurovision

We had left our children, minus Fran who was still at Teen Ranch in Toronto, between the Will household, and Shane & Jen's abode. Shane and Jen are our oldest Rochester friends, in terms of the time we've known them (though it should also be known that they are older than us - MUCH older).

Shane is a tall and strikingly good looking, in that debonair, Clark Kent, nearly 40, almost as good-looking as me (just to give you a gauge), sort of way. Jen is understated, highly intelligent, naturally gorgeous, can finish your sentence, wise, hard working, much better looking than Shane (by comparison, with tongue against cheek) and a better friend you'll never find.

Shane, Jen, Liz & Jed - Believe it or not, we did not discuss our outfits. We're just THAT kindrid...

In previous times, when we've arrived on their doorstep, it's always felt like we've made a long, laborious journey home. We generally flop onto whatever takes our fancy (in our experience, and over the years, barely anything is recognisable - their furniture has always been upgraded - ever more suited to their growing family's needs and tantilisingly tasteful to-boot), whilst Jen makes up dinners, desserts and refreshing bevwas. 

Jen later joins us midway conversation, instantly knowing who and what we're talking about, and immediately correcting parts of our exhausted monologues, we thought she hadn't been privy to on account of her pot clanging during the post-feast cleaning frenzy which systematically entangles her. Now I know you're privately, pompously thinking - "first of all she cooks, then serves, eats and then cleans up?" Well yes, it is a matter of contention in our lives, but please let me explain...

For us this problematic issue goes back, waaaaaaaaay back, aaaaaaaaaaaall the way back to Brockport Crossings, a "housing estate" on the fringe of the university Liz and I attended, the State University of New York - Brockport campus. It's to die for!

We'd regularly hang-out with our best friends, our New Yorker soul mate couple, on the ground floor of their multi-story, minimum convenience, townhouse.

Lizzie and I would giggle with glee as we ran around their home, mucking things up. We'd turn the condiments around the wrong way, shuffle Shane's alphabetically ordered cds, push his two-finger-spaced closeted shirts to one side and rearrange lounge room ornaments. It drove him nuts, and it wasn't even really funny, but for some reason, in our juvenile days (cause we're so mature now), we found it to be hilarious.

Our favourite game was Risk. I believe it was ALWAYS on a Friday afternoon, we'd stroll over for dinner, witness a voilent neighbourHOOD beating, call 911 and await Police attendence - popcorn in hand and toddler faces pressed up against window pain. Shortly after we'd throw our kids into bed (where Fran would continue to rearrange things for Shane) and commence our all-night, all-out sessions of Risk, which Jen nearly always won anyway.

There would inevitably be intense moments, with World dominator style passion, to times of "who cares, it's only a game (when I was losing...)." Sometimes we'd laugh our heads off, other times we'd leave with just a "grunt" to say hooray. We were always friends and this showed in the way we were able to smile (though sometimes rather toothily) and carry-on in the same ol' fashion, the very next week.

One evening, we headed out at the end of the night (I think the sun was rising), with good cheer, only to remember that we had left Fran's dummie (pacifier) at their house.

Psht! Don't judge us!! Yes, we used dummies. You try travelling Canberra - Sydney - Bangkok - London as a man, solo - with a baby, toddler and small child.

Just whilst I'm completely side-tracked, I also wanted Liz to use drugs at the birth of our first - Franny, and worked myself into more of a state than Liz ever could. I reached boiling point when I worked out how patronised I was, after being escorted out of the delivery room by the midwife, arm being held and rubbed, and with a soft voice cooing "there, there Jed, you can get through this without drugs..."

Of all the HIDEOUS Tom-Foolery! I felt humiliated!! Vulnerable!!! Only half a man... How dare they stoop to that level! And so I did what any man would do. I marched straight back into that delivery room, stepped over Liz who was now in her medieval, fembot, newage, birthing position, perched myself atop the delivery bed, and started inhaling the sweet toxins of Nitrous Oxide. THAT, ladies, is how you give birth...

Anyway, I've completely digressed. After remembering about our forgotten "dummie" back in the Crossings, we headed back to Shane & Jen's. We didn't knock, because it was late, we simply poked our tired heads through the door.

We were going to say "hello", but only got as far as "hell", for what we saw befuddled us. There could be NO denying it, for standing in the entrance was Jen, cleaning products in rubber-hands, scrubbing any DNA traces of our existence, quite positively away.

And there was more! Shane was rewashing EVERY dish we'd "cleaned." Of all the insults, of all the audacity, of all the hilarity. Yes, Liz and I can be a little too easy going at times. 

Now as mature adults with way too many children/teenagers, on our North American Roadshow, we chitted and chatted the night away with Shane & Jen, eventually hitting the sack at around 3am.

Of course, whom should pop their head through the doorway at the break of dawn (midday) on the very next morning (well, you know, later that day)? Beth! "Good Morning", she half-whispered in a bright, brisk voice, coupled with an awkward smile. Her discomfort may have resulted from an attempt to poke her head past the door, which wasn't forgiving on account of her voluminous red hair and our floor-bound composting clothes heap.

Dear Beth had come to chauffeur us to our afternoon appointment. It was now afternoon. We ducked around, helter-skelter, simultaneously trying to prepare the sleeping ankle-biters and attempting to contact room service for breakfast.

But alas - Jen had moved on to lunch - something we were to become accustomed to, Jen moving on to the next meal with the rest of civilization. We made ourselves bagels, a treat we NEVER get in Nicaragua. Thank God for Jen's open-fridge-door policy... 

We headed to the shores of one of the Finger Lakes (the name alludes me) and met with Geneseo Assembly of God. This visit was similarly bitter-sweet to our visit with Mountain Lakes Assembly of God.

As with ML-AG, this congregation was also aging, yet they still had an older pastor, who was only months away from retirement. They were wonderful to us, welcoming with open arms, but this specific sight, an aged Church, was to become all too familiar and weighed heavily on my heart.

I could see that Pastor Paul was completely in love with Jesus and his people, but for whatever reason was unable to bridge the generation gap. I want anyone reading this to understand that I am not casting any kind of judgment here, because aging congregations can be the result  of any number of factors.

However, it had seemed that the Church was given a real chance of reinvigoration through a merge with a locally based non-denominational Church. After our "presentation", we were granted the opportunity of speaking with the pastor who'd previously led the non-denom. He seemed to be a gracious chap, somewhere around the BIG 4-oh mark. It was a great chat.

He explained that his Church had been vibrant and growing however, he'd felt that he should be utilising a Church building, sowing money back into the ministries of fellow Christians.

The non-denom approached Geneseo AG and formed an agreement with them to use their building of a Sunday evening. As time passed, it became clear that the AG Church had a morning and evening service, with not many people distinguishing between the two "bodies" of people.

And so the Churches merged. Pastor Paul, became the lead pastor, and the younger fella, became 2ic. Yet it was too good to last. Before too long the 2ic was forced to step aside from his Churching commitments, for family reasons, and started attending a home Church.

I believe this dealt a massive blow to Geneseo AG, as sadly, quite often Church attendance is primarily correlated to the person of pastor. It's just a guess, but I'm thinking the absence of the non-denom pastor's youthfulness, energy, creativity and originality was sorely missed.

He went on to explain some of the problems he sees with the denomination and I'll paraphrase here:

"In this day and age, there are profound issues confronting our youth. We believe that our teens must attend the very best universities to grant them the optimal start in life.

However, the very best universities can be rather pricey. Mega, well-to-do-Churches can afford offering a significant starting salary to recent graduates, which they need in order to cover their significant educational debts.

Smaller Churches in rural communities, start-ups, inner city Churches, etc., generally are unable to afford the cost of highly educated, professional pastors. The number of young graduates seeking a career in ministry seems to be dwindling."

Hence, all too often, reduced congregational numbers are not necessarily the fault of the aging pastor. In this scenario it seemed to me that the poor bloke just wasn't offered a fair-go. You could see that he'd extended himself beyond belief, working with the sick, the poor, the disabled, the elderly, other Churches, etc.

He had taken in dozens of orphans as foster children, working tirelessly for the cause of his community. At the end of the day his legacy will be that he loved the Lord, pastored his Church and blessed random, wacky missionaries like me.

There are faults with the system - it's manmade. And although I don't have all the answers,

I do think the best way forward for many Christians in the American AG Church would be to compromise and follow the lead of many successful pastors from years gone by, and adopt an apprenticeship of sorts.

I grew up under Gothard's "Advanced Training Institute of America," and although I admit he made many mistakes, I think his approach to training is appropriate in this circumstance. In smaller congregations, perhaps we should be training up leaders who attend university part-time or via correspondence, reducing or negating the cost of training, and giving the battlers a shot at it.

I believe, it all goes back to discipleship. Walking alongside people, through life, and being there for them, without exception. It begins with, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me." (John 14:6) But where to from there?

Shouldn't we be helping our youth capture a vision for God and their lives? That doesn't happen for all instantaneously, right before they need to make a decision at university. No, the seed needs to be planted much earlier and that is part of parental responsibility.

Honestly,  I was shocked when teaching at a Christian school, that most of the kids had not even contemplated what their lives would look like in future years. Yes, kids change their minds, I get that. But, training for some professions must begin in the earliest of years.

I had one little girl say "oh,  I want to be a gymnast and go to the Olympics." I turned to her and said, "you're probably too late, you're 10 now. Most of the girls at the Olympics start training when they are 2 or 3 years old."

This will horrify most of my readers, but it's the truth. I met so many people at university in America who still had NO IDEA what they were wanting to study. That's not possible in most other countries of the World - you enroll in your profession from day dot, and cannot change without jumping through hoops. Generally university, whether free or not, is difficult to get into and a privilege to attend.

If you disagree with what I'm saying, watch the first few weeks of any "American Idol" season, and you will witness the dropping of many parental balls. (stay with me please) Children are CONTINUOUSLY told that they can be whatever they dream. It's not true. There are factors involved, which are out of their control.

Firstly, we are given a set of God given talents. We don't decide those, and a good parent helps their child decipher between what God has given others and the talents he's given them. Secondly, we are born into a specific environment. We have to be realistic and have to teach our kids to be realistic, in terms of God-given dreams that are attainable. Thirdly, there are circumstances out-of-our control. Other people end up being the coaches, employers, trainers, mothers-in-law, etc.

We as parents mustn't put too much faith in a system that primarily stacks the cards in others' favour. We have to prepare our children for the hard knocks life will inevitably bring. It's a time of intense training, and boundaries are crucially important. Try following one of Liz's famous quotes with teens, it'll get results:  "why don't you just compromise for once and do what I say!"

Train up your children, I beg you, TRAIN THEM TO THINK! Don't just plop them into society's systems, as many do, virtually forgetting them for the next 17 years. Help them to hear the voice of God, find themselves in Him, realise their God given interests and talents, and start steering, for goodness' sake, grab the flippin' the wheel! (PS.. AND with whatever they do, MAKE THEM PRACTISE!)