This Vintage Chica

Letters From Nicaragua: The Dolls and Craft Hope

Dear Friends,

Have you ever experienced a moment that wa so perfect you know that it must have been orchestrated by something (or someone) bigger than yourself?  I have these "the stars aligned perfectly" moments once in a blue moon - like when the light and the timing are perfect right at sunset and I get a great photo of one of my boys without a goofy look on his face.  It happens once in awhile and it always leaves me in awe.  Two weeks ago I experienced one of those moments, but on a much larger scale. 

Five years ago, I first went to Casa Bernabe.  It was not an ideal trip and I left with a huge hold in my heart.  I felt like I had been on a big sight seeing trip of poverty and despair and then put right back on the plane to my comfortable house in Virginia.  I wanted desperately to DO something, but had no idea what it was. I came home with lots of questions about the world and God's role in it all.  I sat with that sad feeling and those questions for three years - still feeling guilty for not doing more since my return home.  Last year I went again.  I wasn't sure what would happen, but I tried to go with no expectations at all.  I did my best to trust the process ORPHANetwork uses, just show up, and let God do the rest.  It just so happened, I got to know some of the staff of the orphanage and began a friendship with one woman in particular, Rina - the woman who takes care of the youngest girls ages 4-12 at the orphanage.   Through our relationship, Rina eventually expressed a need.  I heard her need and shared it here in this space.  Jade and her new organization Craft Hope came along side the project and exposed the need to more and more of you.  And you acted. 

In short, here is the breakdown...I respond to a ping in my heart to go.  I am wrecked, and I sit in the uncomfortableness of lots of questions for a along time.  I feel the need to go again, but am afraid.  I go anyway, without expectations.  Arms open to what HE has planned.  A relationship is made, feelings are shared, a need is expressed, that need is shared with a community, partners come along-side and share the need with an even larger community, and the need is met...10 fold.  Needs were met that none of us even knew about.  And we all sit in awe!

The post you have all been waiting for...the doll report!

The third day we were at the orphanage I finally got to meet with Matilda, the orphanage psychologist and Rina, the youngest girls' caregiver.  I did my best, in my limited Spanish, to explain to Matilda that Rina had told me about her need for dolls to aid with the emotional therapy these children need to begin to recover from their experiences.  I tried to explain that what started out as a small ask from one faithful woman, had mushroomed into the over 400 dolls I had brought with me.  I tried to explain that a beautiful woman in Texas heard about the idea and put it on a website that matched crafters with needs.  That these caring folks were from all over the world - Kenya, Australia, the UK, Morocco, Canada, Mexico, Japan and the Netherlands.  I tried to convey that with each stitch, mothers and daughters, craft groups, grandmothers and children had thought about the precious children that would love these dolls. 

But I don't think they believed me until I took them back to the team center where we were staying.  I pulled out suitcase after suitcase bursting with dolls.  I tried to explain where each of the dolls had come from as best I remembered.  To find the matching blanket for this one and the matching hat for that one.  Matilda was most excited to see the boy dolls.  She just could not contain her excitement with the thought that we had thought of the little boys as well.  They were shocked (like I was) at how much detail had gone into each doll.  And that we had thought enough to make many of them with darker skin.

Rina and Matilda were overwhelmed to say the least.  The three of us fought back tears, as they carefully looked at each and every doll individually.  I am not exaggerating when I say that they looked at all 400+ dollies.    Rina would hold up a doll dressed in ruffles and pink and say "this one must be for Fatima, she loves pink so much".  And the boy doll with the soccer jersey, "this one must go to Panchito, its just perfect".  They knew these children and their personalities intimately.  And it was wonderful to watch them pick the perfect doll for each child.  Rina and Matilda hand picked one doll for each of the youngest boys and girls in the Casa Bernabe orphanage.  Rina picked out about 20 additional dolls for any children that would be coming to the orphanage in the next several months.Then Matilda picked dolls for each of the other children she works with at two other orphanages.   We loaded them up into duffel bags and walked them up to the main orphanage. 

It was a thrill to watch Rina and Matilda, the women who are with these children day in and out, the women who do the hard work of loving these little people hand out the dolls.  It was not my place to hand out these dolls, it was theirs. And I was happy to be behind the camera fighting back my own tears.

 

I was able to express everything I had previously tried to say later in the day through an interpreter.  And Rina said she understood.  She told me that that evening as she put the girls to bed, she was going to sit down with them and tell them that they were special.  That they are so special that someone across the globe was thinking about them weeks ago while they were making the dolls that they were holding on to that evening.  She said that God makes each of us as individuals, uses different stitches and colors for each of our lives.  These dolls are a reflection of HIS creativity through the hands of the people who made them.  And if a person could care that much about each of them...how much did they think God the Father cared about them?  

I have to say, I about lost it.

Days later I went back to the dorm to take some pics of the dolls on the girls' beds with the new sheets another woman on our team brought.  But as I looked around the room, I only saw two or three of the dolls we had handed out before.  I asked Rina where all of the dolls were and she picked up a pillow to show me that most of the girls put them under their pillows.  I must have had a confused look on my face because she went on to say that the girls put their most valuable possessions under their pillows so that no one will know what they have and steal it.  And sure enough, each pillow had a doll underneath it just waiting for their little girl to come home from school to play with her.  

It is an amazing thing to have been apart of this project.  Thank you Jade for beginning Craft Hope and for being my partner in this God written adventure.  Thank you to each of you who made a doll, to each of you who made several dolls, to each of you who didn't make a doll but chose to help by sharing a link to the Craft Hope site and spreading the word.   I want you to know that that evening these children knew they were apart of a world bigger than their circumstances.  They knew that someone across the miles cared about them.  And that God the Father cares about them even more.  You made a difference in these children's lives.  And because of your generosity and support,the story continues.

Thank you and many blessings to you all!

Eren

P.S.  Dolls were also given to another missions team headed to the El Canyon orphanage and to children at a child care facility outside La Chureca, the Managua City dump.  More on finding hope in La Chureca next.

Lettters from Nicaragua: Reentry

Dear friends,

I Just returned from Nicaragua this morning at 4 a.m.  Still feeling a bit out of it and having much difficulty putting the trip into words.  But I have come to know to trust my own process.  And the photos always come first.  The words will follow shortly behind.

I have returned with lots of "things I know for sure", but lots of questions too.  My heart is wrecked...again.  The poverty, the beauty you see in these children's faces, the inequality.  All of it wrecks your heart.  But I am grateful to be caught in the middle of all of the questions.  The most perfect place to be.  At least for now.

Here are a few shots of day 1 ... We arrived at the orphanage and to get "the lay of the land" we took a walk around the orphanage and the surrounding village called Vera Cruz. 

We were immediately greeted by smiling faces and children holding our hands.  And I question if they reach out to us only because they know the gringos have money for food and medicines.  Either way we smile at each other with unspoken expectations.  And squeeze the hand we are holding a little tighter.  We sing songs as we dance through the dirty streets, knowing full well this in not fixing anything.  But it feels right for a short time.

More words will come friends...as they see fit.  But until them, I am looking through the 800 (yes, 800+) pictures I took.  Trying to remember something that seems so far away.  Fighting to hold onto the stories of those I met.  Desperately remembering the faces of those precious children.  Trying to find the gifts in the experience God was offering.

I will be quiet.  And listen.  And remember.  And be grateful.

Off to kiss on my own kids some more for now.  And maybe a little sleep.

With a full heart and a very full spirit,

Eren

 

Craft Hope: Final Count

For the past several weeks our routine has been a bit different than normal.  Yes, about 2 p.m. Scout moves to the front windows and hangs out until she hears the squeek of the mail truck tires.  Then she starts to whine to be let out.  I break from whatever it is Im doing and yell "Wyatt, mail's here!"  He comes tearing down the stairs running toward the kitchen silverware drawer.  I open the front door to let Scout out and Wyatt meets me at the front door with a table knife.  The mail carrier gives Scout a treat.

And then boxes start to come.  He makes one trip, two trips back to his truck, sometimes three.

Wyatt has become masterful at opening boxes with a table knife, knowing now exactly how to find the open edges and slide the knife under the packing tape.

This has been our habit for the past four weeks or so.

The Craft Hope deadline has passed.  The dolls are in.  And boy are they IN!  387 sweet dollies have arrived from all over the US and 12 countries including Australia, Canada, Brazil, Morocco, Japan, and Scotland.  They are now getting to know each other and readying themselves for the next leg of their journey to Nicaragua.

 

And the notes...the notes that came along with the dolls have been just as amazing as the dolls themselves.  Notes from 3 year old little girls and notes from 76 year old women.  Some of you rallied your sewing or craft groups to participate.  Some made dolls with their children and talked about poverty and those with less.  And some learned to sew for the first time through this project, reconnecting to the women in their families who made dolls long ago.  One woman made two dolls in honor of the two sons she is picking up at an orphanage in Africa this week.  And one woman who thought she was not going to be able to have children found out she was expecting the day she finished her doll.  She considers her doll to be very special and hopes the doll's  new owner gets their deepest, special prayers answered too.  How wonderful is that?

One of the things our Nicargua missions group talked about last year that has stuck with me is the thought that these children that live at Casa Bernabe deserve the best that we can give them.  Although it might be our nature to want to give them the holey t-shirts we no longer wear, or a mismatched set of sheets that our grandmother gave us eons ago and are now about threadbare.  We tend to think that it really doesn't matter what we give them, that they will be appreciative of whatever they can get.  And there is some truth to that.  They are extremely appreciative of anything we bring down with us.  But really...as children just like yours and mine...don't they deserve the best?  As children who have survived physical abuse and poverty and who knows what else...Don't they deserve the best of everything?  The best food?  The cleanest water?  The softest bed?

Looking at these dolls spread out all over my living room, I know that these children will be receiving the best. It is so clear that those of you who made dolls, took extra special care in picking out fabrics and planning out how you would paint or stitch the eyes on.  They truly are a reflection of your hearts and your regard for these children.

Thank you for that.  Thank you for everything friends.  From the very depths of my being, thank you. 

We had hoped for maybe 30-40 dolls for the Casa Bernabe Orphanage.  But you all blew me away with what arrived on our doorstep.  We will not only have enough dolls for all of the Casa Bernabe orphanage (leaving some with the staff for the children that yet to arrive), but we also have enough to take with us when we visit a daycare and feeding center in the Managua city dump (La Chureca).  So please know that the doll you made WILL find a home with a child who will love it.

I don't leave for Nicaragua for two more weeks, but that will give me plenty of time to pack them up and then work on my own packing.  And of course, I'll be posting while I am down there.  So stay tuned, the story is not over yet.

Thank you again for being the hands and feet of all that is good in this world.

-----------------------

P.S.  The newest Craft Hope project has been posted.  This time its hats and booties and baby blankets for infants in an orphanage in three villages in India.  The deadline for Craft Hope project 3 is July 25.

Real Life: Permission for Grace

I know I said life is all in how you frame it.  And I still feel that way.

Just keep looking at those beautiful peonies while you read this.

And if you have a friend (or a sibling, or a neighbor) who is currently active duty in the military, stop what you are doing and call them.  Offer to watch their kids, take them dinner or just come over for a chat.  Yes, it has been one of those kinds of weeks for us.

Last week S got back into town after being gone for three weeks.  Before that he was home a week and before that he was gone 6 weeks.

He is currently doing what they call a "work up".  This is the block of training they do before they deploy to wherever they are headed.  It is broken up into two and three and six week blocks, which means he is home some and gone some.

This is when I am so grateful to be living in an area where they are so many military families.  Because when I say "We're doing a work up" every military wife knows what that means.  It means that you are so amazingly grateful to have them home the little bits here and there that you do, but equally frustrated with the schedule shifts that come with it as well. 

It takes about two weeks for us to get past papa being gone and get into our groove.  Then just as we hit our stride, he comes back in and we have to adjust all over again.  This week has been week two where the fun of papa coming back into town is over and I have to be "the enforcer". Which is not easy for me.

The stress of it all is evident.

And it has shown up in several ways.  I got an email from one of the boys teachers about some serious lack of focus in the classroom.  I've seen uncharacteristic meltdowns over simple things such as shower time and bedtime.  The boys are getting up all hours and unable to get back to sleep...either that or waking up at 4 a.m. and then ready to go to bed by 6.  Right about the time S hits the door and is ready to play.

This leaves me a frazzled mess and extremely exhausted from navigating and peacemaking the emotions of the entire family.  All day.  Everyday.  Actually it leaves us all tired and a bit worn out.

Believe me, Im not whining.  Im sure commercial pilots' families are the same, and parents who have to travel for sales jobs, etc.  This is the kind of stress that you think you can handle.  Its not even enough to worry about.  But it sneaks up on you.  You think everything is hunky dory until one minute you find yourself ready to throw a plate across the room.  And you have to stop and ask yourself why.

And it takes a bit of time to process it all.

That's why I've given myself a bit of grace as far as blogging is concerned.  If I make it here fine.  If I don't, that's fine too. 

So, whatever is getting to you right now, whatever of lifes little stresses is getting to you...give yourself a bit of grace.  Take a picture or two.  No matter if you actually share them with anyone or not.  Take a walk with no destination planned.  Mindlessly cut some quilt squares whether you intend to actually assemble the quilt or not.  Make a yummy dinner and sit down with a good glass of wine.  Stare at your kiddos and take a minute to really check in with them.  Sneak into the neighbor's yard after the sun has gone down to snip a few of their peonies because they moved away months ago and no one is there to enjoy them like they should be enjoyed.  Just know that we all need a bit of grace sometimes.

Happy weekend to you all!

Craft Hope Update

Im sorry things have been a bit unpredictable the past several days.  My computer is still giving me fits and being very tempermental.  Im getting the feeling its time to do a full backup and learn how to download all of my photos onto my external hard drive.

But before that I wanted to share a bit of an update with the Craft Hope: Casa Bernabe project.

Our crew has outgrown the chair and we've had to move them to the couch in my sewing room.  So far, we have received a total of 41 dolls (and 15 doll blankets) from Louisiana, New Jersey, California, Wisconsin and even as far away as England and Australia.  Amazing!  The detail and craftsmanship being put into these little dolls is just incredible.  I can tell that each crafter has carefully chosen fabrics, thought about how to make the eyes just right.  You all are the best!

The mail carrier has noticed too.  Last week he said he couldn't help but notice all of the boxes and asked what we were up to.  I told him about Craft Hope and the smile on his face as I was explaining said it all.  Everyone has a need to be apart of something bigger than themselves.  He now hand delivers our mail to our front door and asks what the count is today.  He is now even thinking of going on his church's mission trip to Mexico this Fall.   

Many of you have asked if we are still needing dolls and if the need has been met.  Here's the deal.  Yes, dolls for the children currently living at Casa Bernabe have been met.  But there are always new children arriving at the orphanage with nothing to call their own.  And the organization I support, ORPHANetwork works with several other orphanages and feeding centers.  So the need goes on and on and on.

Here is the bottom line.  If you felt a twinge of "I need to make a doll" when you first read about Craft Hope and Casa Bernabe and this project, then I ask you to go ahead and make that doll you saw in your head at that moment.  I guarantee you there is a child just waiting for that exact doll that you are going to make.  And my promise to you is to find that very child, that one child waiting for YOUR doll, and show them how much you care about them from across the world.

Everyone has a need to be apart of something bigger than themselves.  Whether you are on the giving end or the receiving end. 

going back, i love my husband and craft hope

5 weeks ago S got on a C-130 headed west for a work trip.  While in flight, I guess he had some time to think, because about 4 hours later he sent me a text message saying "We are ALL 5 going to Nicaragua this summer."

Since then, we have decided that we will all NOT be going to Nicaragua.  We will take the boys with us at some point, but this is not the year.  I think the altitude might have been affecting his brain momentarily.  Our youngest is still pretty young.  And not that you can't travel with little ones, but a trip to La Chureca isn't exactly the water park, you know?

Ever since I was a kid I have wanted to do something big.  I read Madelyn Allbright's biography in college and thought I surely would be headed to the State Department and by 30 would be an ambassador.  Funny, huh?  A bit different than an ambassadorship to Malawi, but Nicaragua and the kids at Casa Bernabe are my " something BIG".

Everyday, we are all given opportunities to help someone put in our path by the divine.  And stepping into that we get to witness something bigger than ourselves, as wide and as deep as the universe.  Kids in Malawi need help too, as those in inner city New York do.  But the children at this orphanage in Nicaragua have have been put in my path, and they are mine. 

I am coming to learn that everyone's greatest desire is to be known.  Known by our fellow man and known by the God who made us.  We all yearn for someone to know us that intimately...truly known for who you are, what fires you up, what saddens you deeply, our good parts and our bad...and loves us anyway.  And knowing that I have a partner in all of this who understands that I need to do this...well, hes a good guy and I'm grateful everyday that I married him.  He pushes me and asks em to do things that I would never do in a million years, like write and snowboard and go to crazy out of the way places like Nicaragua.  So, that was that. 

I will be headed back to Managua with ORPHANetwork on July 2.

This time, there has been a request for handmade dolls for the younger children.  You can read more about how they will be used and how to contribute over at Craft Hope.  I want to send a huge thank you to Jade for helping get the word out.  You are wonderful for putting this together.

Can you just imagine it...some of the poorest children in the world, running around with one of the cutest dolls in the world?

So cool, eh?

This was a tough post to wrap up into a nice neat package, but I think that first photo taken at La Chureca pretty much sums it up perfectly.  Its all rooted in love, my friends.

Nicaragua: part three

I over think things.  My mother will tell you I always have.  I think it helps me be more intentional in my actions and my words.  Unfortunately, it also keeps me from just getting a project done - it brings out the perfectionist in me.  And sometimes, I stop short of the ending.  I have been thinking and thinking about how to tell one story in particular - how to tell it perfectly.  The story of a relationship - a relationship that lasted only one day, beginning to end.  The story of one little girl and her amazing gift to me.  I feel undeserving of her story.  I want to do it (her) justice in how I replay it in words here in this space.  But I also know that, like Ramona said, if I do not tell her story, then it (she) does not exist. 

So last night I got a very clear message to "Just tell the story, stupid!".  Do not over think it.  There is beauty in its simplicity.  So, here I go again...telling another story from Nicaragua.  Plain and simple.

**********

On the first full day in Nicaragua,  we loaded up the kids from the orphanage onto the bus and headed out to the beach for a day of fun.  Upon arriving, Joe, my friend and our fearless leader, told us that there are always some persistent peddlers outside the hotel where we would be eating, changing, etc.  And that he had set up a specific time for them to enter into the patio area and sell their wares to us.  And sure enough, as soon as we walked onto the beach and around the corner into the courtyard of the hotel, they lined up.  "You like?" one woman repeated over and over again, showing us her necklaces and hemp bracelets.  One woman (the woman with the apron in the photo above) was selling water in little baggies.

Then I noticed a young lady (a girl really) who had a plastic strainer filled with painted shell animals.  She looked at me and said "You buy"?  I answered in my broken Spanish, "Later, at 2:30, the special time to buy".  After a few minutes of trying to getting that idea across, she had negotiated a deal for me to ONLY buy from her.  I told her in not these exact words, but that if I was going to buy some goofy, painted shell animal souvenirs, that I would ONLY buy them from her.  She was not asking much for them and in intended to buy one from her at the special buying time to help her out.

I went on my way, playing with the kids who had come with us on the bus - hunting for the biggest conch shells, jumping the waves, collecting these pretty little pink mollusk shells and making sand drip sandcastles.  At first I had not noticed her.  But wherever I went, she followed me.  When I was in the water, she was close by on the beach.  Despite my explanations of the fact that my wallet being in my bag, inside the hotel area, and I couldn't buy anything at that exact moment if I wanted to, she followed me. When I went in the hotel area for lunch with the kids, she was right outside the gate, her eyes glued to me through the holes in the cinder block fence.  I even tried using , Kyra, one of the translators, to tell her that if she needed to go down the beach to sell to someone else, that she could.  And I promised to buy a painted shell animal from her at 2:30.  And yet, when I walked down the beach with one of "our" kids,  she was constantly 100 paces behind us.  Watching. 

Seeing a group of kind hearted (read that sucker) gringos, an ice cream vendor showed up.  And someone from our team, I don't even remember who now, bought a round of ice cream for all of the kids - those that came with us from the orphanage, the young cowboys selling horseback rides, and the little girl selling the painted shell animals too.  She and I started talking.  At first about ice cream.  "Do you like ice cream?"  "What is your favorite ice cream flavor?"  And then I asked what her name was.  After asking the same question two more times, I still didn't get it correct.  I told myself it was something along the lines of Anna Sarah, hoping to be able to remember.  She was so quiet and shy.  She told me she was twelve years old.  She did not want to share much more with me until I asked her to show me the animals she was selling.  She showed me that she had poodles, chickens, turtles and one frog.  She told me they were two American dollars each.  I thought to myself that $2 sounded pretty inexpensive for something that would sell for $5 easy here at the oceanfront in Virginia Beach.  Just to keep the conversation going, I asked her how many she had.  She shrugged her shoulders and began counting them.  Nine animals in all.

And then it happened.  I lost my mind.  Seriously.  I do not know what came over me, but I found myself asking her if I could buy her whole lot for twenty dollars.

"Twenty American dollars?" she asked me.

"Yes, twenty dollars." I replied.  As I calculated that in my mind, $20 was even more than she was originally asking.  The deal-maker in me could have gotten her down to at least a dollar per animal I think.  Her original price was probably inflated anyway, knowing that rich American gringos have money.The bargain hunter in me was confused.  But I was not thinking with my head at that point.  Something else, someone else had taken over the conversation.  I reached out my hand to show that we had a deal and we shook on it.

She smiled the biggest smile I have ever seen in my entire life...bigger than any smile my boys have ever given me.  I asked her what she would do now that she had sold all of the animals.  She told me that she would get the day off.  I asked her if she would show me where to find the biggest, best shells on the beach.  She smiled again and tucked the strainer of sold goods under her arm with one hand and took my hand with the other.  We headed off down the beach together to an area I had been earlier in the day - the same place we had been finding tons of the pink mollusk shells. 

While we walked and searched, she told me that she lived with her mother who was at work at the time.  She went to school only two days a week because that was all they could afford.  She told me that she was sad sometimes because they did not have the things they needed.  Making and selling the shell animals was all she could to to help her mother.  All the while we were collecting little shells - the pink ones, brown scallop shells, round twisted shells.  I asked where the big shells were, holding my hands out to show I wanted to find big conch shells to take back to my boys at home as souvenirs.

She shook her head as if to say, "you silly American.  Don't you know the most valuable ones are the tiny ones that everyone passes by. 

She told me that she made the animals from the shells she found on the beach and that while I was looking for the biggest shells, it was the smaller ones that were more valuable.  Big shells are just big shells, they are pretty.  But from the tiniest shells, you could make frogs and turtles, poodles and chickens.  She showed me that there were in fact two kinds of pink shells.  She showed me the differences in each and every tiny shell.  This one was for the feet of the chicken and this one was for the head of the turtle.  Each one with their own special, unique purpose.  Come to find out she was eight years old and not twelve.  2:30 p.m. passed and she and I didn't even notice.  Time was suspended.

When it was time to go, I took her inside the patio area of the hotel and pulled out a $20 bill.  I showed it to her and rolled it up as tight as I could and slipped it in the palm of her hand.  She took the money and shoved it down into the waistband of her underwear.  I told her to be careful with it.  She nodded.  She laid out the animals in order of their species...the chickens first, then the poodles and the turtles and lastly the one little frog.  I carefully rolled them up in the only thing I had, my sand covered shorts and my towel and placed them into my backpack.  When I looked up, she was gone and I said  quiet prayer that she would make it home with the money, no one around her the wiser.

**********

There are so many things to be learned from this one encounter with this one little girl.  Too many lessons to pick just one or two.  And the lessons of this brief friendship are still being revealed to me.  It was not just a chance meeting between she and I ... it was a divine encounter.  One orchestrated by the Creator of the Universe.  The same One who created the beach, the shells, the waves, this little girl and me.  Here are some of the thoughts that are rolling around in my head since our meeting.

• The most valuable people to God are those who are easily passed by.  It is not those who are big an bold and noticed easily.  The most valuable people to God are those who are small, poor, weak and often forgotten.  Who does society and specifically the American society value?  Are those the same people I value.  Who does my family value?
• People in need need more than our money.  Yes, they need food and clothing and shelter.  Absolutely.  But after our handshake, she could have said..."now let's go get your money first and then I'll show you the shells".  But she didn't.  She valued the relationship more than the money.  The amazing part of my gift to her was that she was able to give something back to me - the give and take of a real relationship. 
• If the above is true and people need to know they have value.  How does this lesson relate to how our country treats our poor.  Since this is an election year, it has me examining our approach to throwing money at the problems in our society.  In the world.  Does this really solve the problem?  Even temporarily?
• God meets you sometimes when you least expect it...often through a child.  I already know this from watching my own boys, but this story just strengthened what I have already known.
• This was the best $20 I have ever spent.  What else could I do with $20?
• I have been thinking about how this pertains to the relationships I have with people in my own life.  The superficial ones...I mean the ones with people I see everyday - my neighbor who plays salsa music too loud, my postman who always has a smile, the woman who answers the phone when I call the church office.  What would happen if I just took a moment to ask them about their family, asked them to share their story?  I know it isn't possible all the time, but what if it happened once a day. Once a week.  Once a month. 
• Beauty is most often found in small, unique moments of the day.  I was looking for the biggest shells on the beach and all the while missing out on the most beautiful ones.  The tiny ones, each with their own unique purpose.  How many of God's small, amazing gifts am I missing each day while asking for big ones?
• This time could have been just another shell animal sale to her and just another souvenir purchase to me.  But the miracle happened when I committed to buying everything she had.  Only then did she smile, take my hand and begin our walk down the beach.  Only then was her story fully shared.  How would things change if I said (and really meant it) "God, give me all that you've got.  I'm ready to pay more than you ask.  I will make the extra sacrifice.  What do you have to show me?
• Approach life with open arms, you just might receive more than you can even hold on to.

It would be a miracle if I ever ran into this little girl again.  But after our first encounter, I know...anything is possible if God is in the mix. 

I would love to hear your thoughts on this story.  If you got something different out of it, I would love for you to share in the comments section below.  This is the kind of story that has layers, and I feel like I am uncovering them one at a time.  Do you feel like her story applies to an area of your life?  I would love to know if you don't mind sharing with me (and the rest of blogland).

Have a great weekend!  Blessings dear friends!

Nicaragua: part two

I returned late Friday night from Nicaragua...feeling worn out and very heavy.  As I stepped off the plane, I noticed that my feet and my flip flops were still filthy with Nicaragua dirt despite trying to wash them off with baby wipes during our layover in Miami.  The boys welcomed me in the best way imaginable...with the biggest hugs ever, kisses too many to count, and simultaneous stories of every detail I had missed the past week.

Saturday was spent, holding my boys, taking a (long, much appreciated) warm shower, holding and hugging some more, sleeping here and there when I could, and wandering around the house in a zombie-like state.  Sensory overload does not even put it all into perspective.  Sunday we all went to church and was I asked by several friends "Did you have a good trip"?  I didn't quite know how to answer them.  

Were we safe and healthy for the most part? 
Yes.  

Were there pockets of fun and joy? 
Yes. 

But I don't know that after witnessing such deep poverty and feeling amazing joy at the same exact moment can quite be described as a "good trip".  It was hard, and uplifting, depressing, overwhelming, spirit filled, and brilliant all rolled up into one confusing package.  A package that will take a long time to unpack.

On day 5, we visited La Chureca, the community of people living and working in the city of Managua's largest garbage dump.  There are an estimated 1500 people in La Chureca and it is suspected that around 600 of them are children.  The people that live and work there mine the garbage for anything that they can recycle and sell for money or to use for themselves.

We entered La Chureca and were immediately hit with the knock-you-off-your-butt smell of burning tires and trash.  The flies swarmed the bus and I thought for sure the bus was going to get stuck in the muck left from the rain the day before.  A boy was getting high on glue on the next to the entrance.  Your first reaction is to put the windows up as quickly as you can, to shut it all out.  But not one of us did.  Knowing that there are people who live and work in this place, we did not want to miss a smell, a feeling, not a single moment of it.

After Irving, our amazing bus driver, backed the bus up a skinny little road we unloaded and were immediately greeted by children who took our hands and smiled up at us.  We walked down the path a few feet to a small shanty and Joe introduced us to Ramona, La Chureca's unofficial mayor.  She humbly welcomed us into her home and allowed us to speak to her.  She told us that she had 16 children.  We weren't sure if they were all hers biologically or if she had adopted some of them.  After making a few jokes with Ramona and telling us that she had been an important woman in the Sandanistas in the 1980s and early 90s, Joe told her that she had a bunch of Americans standing before her.  That we were going to go back to the US and tell all of our friends about La Chureca.  And was there something speicfic she would she want us to tell them?

She told us to keep coming, not to stop, ever.  Because when we reached out across the world and visited them, we brought them hope.  She said to remember and to continue to tell their stories.  Ramona said that that if we did not tell those we knew about the story of the people of La Chureca, then no one would know the people there ever existed.  She asked us not to forget.  So, the next week or so I will honor Ramona and the trip I took to Nicaragua by telling a few of the stories.

After leaving Ramona, we walked up a hill to get a better view of the massiveness of the dump.  It was mind blowing.  The trash seemed to go on forever.  And yet, in a strange way, it looked similar to many other cities.  There was organization, roads, movement and work going on.  There was purpose in the people digging through everything the rest of the city had thrown out. 

We also visited the school that our church is helping to make safer for the children who are attending.  It was a small school, but happy and you could tell the kids loved being there and were eager to show us their classroom.  We left the items we had brought for them (toothbrushes, soap, clothing, shoes, etc.) in one of the rooms.  We left feeling a bit embarassed that when we were collecting these things, we actually thought that these modest gifts might make a dent in the need.

As a reward for good grades, we took some of the best students with us to Tip Top (think Chic-fil-a) for chicken, playtime on the playground and coloring.  I got to know Carolina, a 13 year old young woman who wants to go on to college and study business.  I asked her about her family, she asked about mine.  She was an amazing.  She spoke intelligently and even knew a bit of English.  I tried to imagine what her life might be like.  What did she do when she got sick?  Were her parents good to her?  Was she asked to prostitute herself out as a way to support her family like so many young women are?  I quietly prayed to myself for God to protect her and her brothers and sisters.

A few minutes into the meal, several of us realized that most of the kids weren't eating their food.  After questioning them, we discovered that most of them were not eating because they wanted to take their meals back to their families.  So many of us gave the kids our meals so that they could eat ours and still have a box of chicken to take home.  That seemed to do the trick and they ate like they hadn't eaten in months.  We had to convince them not to try to take the ice cream home, that they needed to eat it right then so that it wouldn't melt.

Taking the kids back to the garbage, the drugs, the prostitution, and the increasing cases of HIV was hard.  Really hard.  I did not want to let such a smart, beautiful girl slip back into the mounds of plastic and paper, only to get lost.  I knew I would probably never see her again.  But knowing she at least had a family waiting for her made it a bit easier.  I quickly placed a $20 bill into one of the crayon boxes that she was taking home, showed her where it was and told her it was for food for her family.  I gave her a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek.  She handed me a wish list of school supplies she had written on the back of the picture she had drawn for me.  And I cried and prayed all the way home on the bus.  I will not forget that day.  I will not forget Carolina or the promise we all made to Ramona that day.  I will not forget their stories as long as I live.

More photos of our visit to La Chureca including the school

journey to Nicaragua: part one

-from my journal three years ago

Saturday, July 31, 2004

Arrived in Nicaragua this afternoon and made it through customs without issue.  A torrential downpour welcomed us on our first night.  I have never seen so much water flowing down the streets.  We went directly to Casa Bernabe to meet the kids.  Absolutely overwhelmed!  The others who have been here before were looking for specific people and were greeted with huge hugs, "Que paso, amigo?", and joyful reunions.  But as a complete stranger to these kids, I received the same greeting.  This just doesn't make sense to me.  The language barrier I was so worried about just melted away.

So tired...

Wednesday, August 4, 2004

Yesterday...huge day...too much to even write about last night.  Need more time to process everything.  Took a walk into Vera Cruz and came back for breakfast - eggs with black beans and rice.  Then back to our work projects, for us it was yardwork with the kids.  For others it was more weeding and transplanting in the papaya fields.  We visited a special needs orphanage yesterday called Bluebird.  We were prepared ahead of time for what we would see and experience.  We walked into the first room, kind of an entryway and turned left to look into an open room with bars from ceiling to floor.  In a creepy way it reminded me of an American zoo in very poor condition.  There were children held in these rooms that were seriously emotionally distrubed and we passed suckers through the bars to open hands and smiling faces.  The smell of urine in the baby room was overwhelming.  But somehow we ended up playing baseball in the courtyard with some of the older kids who had lesser mental difficulties or physical limitations.  My job was to yell "uno, dos, tres" to the pitcher before he would pitch.  If I didnt count, he wouldn't pitch.  There are not words in the English language to communicate how hard it was to leave and how broken my heart was for these forgotten children.  It was hard.

Next, it was to the Nueva Vida Refugee Camp where people are still living since being displaced by Hurricane Mitch in 1997.  Rows and rows of shanty houses of cinder blocks and cardboard.

Although, the trip went on for another three days and I did not return home until August 7, my journal ended there.  It was too much, too fast and I could not begin to even put the experience into words.

Right smack dab in the middle of my almost empty journal were these questions.  Questions I don't even remember writing:

• Why would God show you such horrific things, allow you to meet such amazing souls, knowing that you can not solve their problems?
• What am I going to do about all that I have been exposed to?
• Do you work to better the adoption laws in Nicaragua?  Or better their situations here in at the orphanage?
• How do I even go back home and explain this experience to my family?  My friends?
• What the heck is my purpose in all of this?

So, not armed with much more than these questions, I am looking forward to being back there in 5 days.