The week leading up to the Nicaragua trip had
been crazy. I’d not yet gone to bed before sunrise the day I began my travels!
As I mentioned before, the stress never hit. And although I wasn't overly
excited about the adventure ahead, I had a simple peace on Friday as I made my
way to meet Fern before driving to Omaha. Her lovely sister blessed us with a
bed to sleep on, delicious snacks and a fun international gathering the night
before our flight! My heart was full and I was soaking it in as much as I could
before what I anticipated to be a very heart wrenching trip.
Saturday morning, we headed for the airport and
the one thing I remember from that short jaunt was Fern's comment: "I feel
like I'm on my way to a family reunion!" It wasn't too long before we
entered the airport lobby and noticed a sea of green t-shirts. Immediately,
Fern's face lit as she embraced one foreign face after another. It was
wonderful to see her joy, but I was still skeptical.
The first face I met had the name Micah. He told
me he liked my backpack, and that brought a smile to my face. I'd had to borrow
one from my dad because Fern put the fear of lost luggage into me - I packed
all my necessities on my carry-on backpack! Turns out Micah had the same one,
it just looked a little less...plump ;)
On my way to check my suitcase, I met the next couple
of memorable faces. They were lovely-looking young ladies with an extra hop in
their step. High schoolers, I decided. Their elation would have been contagious
were it not for my sober expectation that this would be a hard week ahead of
me. "Aren't you just so excited?" one of them asked exuberantly after
learning that it was my first time on the trip. These young girls didn't need
to hear all of my sobering thoughts. Instead I shared the one thing which I
looked forward to in the week to come. "I am really looking forward to
using my Spanish with native speakers."
Sarah and Mallory, the names I'd decided to
remember, all but leaped into the air upon learning that I speak Spanish! They
said they couldn't wait to learn a lot from me that week, and I immediately
felt nervous of being unable to meet their expectations. "I
am proficient " I explained to them, "but certainly not
fluent." The conversation faded into the mix of the stories and exchanges
between the many who were reuniting since their last trip of the same.
We flew from Omaha to Houston where we had a
6 hour layover. Fern and I, being raised by rather resourceful parents, packed
our own meals for the day to avoid the overpriced food of the airport. I had
brought some bananas which we enjoyed with our lunch and not too long
after, a dark woman holding a young girl that couldn't have been one year old
motioned to us asking for a banana for her small child. I was surprised by the
direct gesture, but was glad to share my overabundance of ripe bananas
that needed used before leaving the country!
Fern and I continued to admire the small child as
the hours passed, smiling at mom, but maintaining a respectful distance.
It wasn't until about 4 in the afternoon that the poor sweetheart
became unappeasable, drawing the attention of many in the airport. I had
another banana and decided it was time to make the offer. The mother welcomed
the food for her daughter and proceeded to explain that the poor duo had been
at the airport since 5:00 that morning and their next flight didn't leave until
8:00 PM. I continued conversing with the mother and learned one of the most
beautiful stories of choosing a child's name.
Manna. Pronounced just like the bread which was
provided to the Israelites for 40 years while they were in the dessert (Exodus
16). This beautiful woman had desired to be a mother but been unable to
conceive for 5 years before this precious little girl was born. She was to her
mother like the Manna for the Israelites – an awaited blessing from the Lord. I
enjoyed my time spent with this precious child and her mother, but it soon came
time to board the plane for Managua.
On the flight, I was privileged to sit across the
aisle from one of our team physicians, Tim. We chatted for a while getting to
know one another and it was in that conversation that I shared about this most
irritating problem I have of becoming faint at the sight of blood. The one
place I would need to steer clear of during the week was the dental clinic –
all they do is pull teeth all day. Although the conversation was relatively
short, it was rather powerful. Tim had shared with me that he had worked with a
nurse who had the same problem when she started – but she got over it.
For years, I’ve thought of what a satisfaction it
might be to study medicine. And for years, I never seriously considered medical
school because I simply can’t handle blood. But Tim had a way of eliminating
that argument and in such a brief moment, I was confronted with an underlying
truth I’d managed to ignore for years: my greatest fear in attending medical
school is graduating. Graduation, which then leads to becoming a doctor and
translates to the responsibility of holding lives in my hands.
I fear failure.
“There is no fear in love, but perfect love
casts our fear…” – 1 John 4:18
Day one, and I was already reconsidering my life
plan. There are several other factors here and I’m not applying to med school
ASAP, but I sure had a lot on my mind for the next 2.5 hours on that flight.
Stewardship is very important to me and I need to consider whether I am
stewarding my strengths, gifts and talents as well as I try to steward my
monetary possessions.
My emotions could not have been more grateful for
our landing in Managua – finally something to stop all of this introspective
thinking! As I got off the plane, I could smell Latin America – it reminded me
of Chile 3 years before – and I felt like I was home in this land which I’d
never visited. I had a few chuckles before actually leaving the airport:
*Fern almost accidentally smuggled an American
apple into Nicaragua.
*The lady scanning bags spoke only one word of
English, “check.” Of course that meant I needed to have my suitcase
hand-inspected! What else could she have meant? It’s the white face – it
practically screams “No Hahbloh es-pan-ole.”
*The aduana hand-checked my suitcase! Do you
remember me saying that I only put a few things in there? I had blankets,
sheets, eye glasses and a sweatshirt. And they needed to inspect my bag. Never
mind the young gentleman behind me who packed 3 scissors!
After verifying that my sheets were no threat to
Nicaragua, I proceeded outside where we waited for our bus. What a joy it was
to hear Spanish around me! My first true sense of feeling at home came upon
listening to a couple of the young’uns asking a Nicaraguan with us if he was
with our organization. “I speak little English,” he responded. These dear ones
proceeded to do what any considerate person would have done in the States: ask slower.
Unfortunately, the poor lad still only knew as many words of English as he did
the first time they asked the question. In order to bridge the communication
gap, I posed the questions again, but this time in Spanish. And as those words
left my mouth, I could feel my heart come to life. There is something different
about speaking Spanish on native soil rather than with my feet planted on
American ground. It was a 45-minute bus ride before we reached the mission
house where we were staying for the night. We arrived near 11:00 PM to a warm
meal cooked by dear Nicaraguan women before showering and heading to bed for
the night.
I loved looking out the windows and seeing
Managua in all of its raw and glorious splendor as we drove to the mission
house that night. Many people – many Americans – would look upon the city and
be distracted by how dirty it is and seemingly unkempt. And while I can share
in the sentiment to a degree, it simply feels like Latin America to me. It is
that atmosphere that causes my heart to feel content and grateful for the
cultures the Lord has spread across this earth.
I didn’t recognize it right in that moment, but
I, too, was waiting for manna. To this point in my life, God has given me only
small doses of immersion in the Spanish language and Latin American culture.
It’s as though He never gives me an abundance, but neither does He let me go
too long without tasting the sweet language on my tongue. My heart was ready
for another serving of Latin America and I was about to wake up to another
morning of manna on the ground.
