Manna del Cielo

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.