In 1998, Hurricane Mitch ravaged Nicaragua. Chinandega saw tragedy like it hadn't in over a century. Rain fell as if the sky had been holding it in for decades, just waiting for one giant release. Casita, a volcano just outside of the city, had been extinct for ages and had thus formed a beautiful crater lake at top. However, with the heaving rain, the capacity it could hold reached its maximum and the water came overflowing out the top, taking the mud, the trees, and the people with it, leaving no mercy for those in it's mighty path.

3,o00 people lost their lives because of that rain, and thousands more lost their hope and their homes. The ever trust-worthy government of Nicaragua sent forth their empty promise to rebuild what had been destroyed, and displaced the homeless to land located next to the Chinandega city dump. The Red Cross and a few organizations brought in tarps and other supplies to make temporary houses, called "chompas", to give the people a shelter while they were waiting to return to their homes.

These "temporary" houses soon became permanent, as the waiting became endless and the glimmer of hope of returning home diminished with each day. The people learned to live off the dump, scavenging for food and metal scraps they could sell in town for enough to survive. Those displaced forgot how to live, and learned only how to survive. Dreams disappeared, as it seemed there was no longer anything to dream about.

Here is where we come in. Armed with faith and truth and a few Spanish speakers, Amigos went into the dump, beckoning those who still clung to the sliver of hope to rejoin life, to rejoin joy. Land had been bought, and materials were ready to build up a community- their hope had arrived.

But the people were wary, and with adaquete reason. Why should they trust these strangers; what makes us any different from the others who claim to make changes that never came to be?

Yet some came, and mustering up their last bit of strength that hadn't been squelched by their circumstances, not allowing themselves to be conquered by misery and fear. Others stayed, content in their complacency, refusing to believe that they were created for something greater. Moving meant changing, and changing meant courage, and tenacity, and more so, work. Still others came, but returned to the dump, after seeing that in order to live again, to really live, would mean matters of the heart. So they took residence again where they were not meant to be, amongst the garbage and the filth and the hopelessness.

This story, however, is not about those that stayed. I could spin whimsy forever, comparing the two groups that stayed in El Limonal to our own hearts and sin situations- but that shall be for another day. Today I want to talk about the people who knew they were meant for greater, the group that took the grand adventure to move into Villa Catalina.

Ever, who was very small when he first came into my friendship, was a resident of the dump with his 2 sisters and older brother. He was bound to a life of garbage, living shoeless and shirtless, scavenging through piles of trash to gather in order to help feed his family. His parents refused to sell themselves or their children to such a circumstance, and they were among the first to pack up their things for hope. There is a picture of Ever we used to have up on our website, his dirty face and half naked body standing in front of a pile of trash, filthy river in the back ground, sky black from garbage fires. If a photo can break your heart, this is the one.

This Saturday, he and a few of my Villa Catalina favorites (Julio, Enrique, David, Hector, and Leandro) all went to Poneloya, my favorite beach. We spent most of the morning running in and out of the ocean, throwing a football on the shore, and making drip castles that no one will ever see the likes of again. Our appetites called, and the boys and I sat on the 2nd floor of a little beach side restaurant, eating cheeseburgers and drinking bottled cokes. Ever's grin was wide, his chest still heaving from general beach exhaustion as he wiped ketchup off his face and looked out on the daunting waves. "I am going to have a boat one day, Kelly," he began. "Do you want me to take you for a ride on my boat? We can come here alot. I will buy a house for all my friends after I go to University, and we'll play on the beach all the time. How do you like that idea?"

And now, I have a new picture of Ever.

We are dealing with a new problem in room 6, and I am not quite sure how to go about approaching it.  A few roommates have decided to take up residence in the love shack, and well... quite frankly, they aren't welcome.

It started with the occasional scurry across the room, a girlish scream would quickly follow, and the furried rodent wouldn't show its face again for several days.  At this point, we assumed it was just one little friendly, big eared, long tailed visitor, so we aptly named him Ralph, figured he wouldn't return, and then let it go.

But then Ralph started leaving his evidence everywhere, and the executive decision was made by the roommates (Stacey, Rachel, and I), that our little friend had to go.  We didn't want to get vicious about it, so we bought "Paper Cats", sticky paper that his little tricky paws would get stuck on and then we put him out to the street to flourish, and live the dream as a mouse in the most garbage filled country in the world.  Everybody wins in this situation.

Within an hour of tempting Ralph with an oreo (a big sacrifice for the three of us, indeed) and some sticky paper, we had captured him and removed him from the premises.  Sucess!  Or, so we thought.  Another mouse appeared on the paper... and another.... and another....  with each mouse captured, we hung a new picture on the wall- the "let this be an example to you and your kind" wall, we called it, thinking that the mice would see this horrifying display and escape forever. Afterall, we live in walking distance from downtown Chinandega, a hispanic mouse's paradise.  But no. They were by no means swayed by the images, and continued to make their presence known in our room.  

In fact, they are getting bold.  They no longer scurry across the room in order to be inconspicious- oh no.  They sashay around, trying on my tee shirts, using my toiletries...  I caught one flicking me off as he poured himself a bowl of cereal at the breakfast table this morning.  These rats are taking ownership were ownership is simply not due.  And I don't like it. Not one bit.

How to solve this problem?

An eviction notice.  With our wit and brilliance, I am expecting very big things from this.  Be waiting with baited breath...

Things I miss, in no particular order.  (expect for the first one).

1.  Chickfila.  There is no getting around this.  I think about Chickfila more than I think about anything else- that includes my job, my family, my own well being.   At least once a day, it crosses my mind that I would do almost anything for chickfila chicken strips, waffles fries, and a large coke with extra ice.  Or a sandwich, wheat bun, extra pickles on the side.  Talking about it now was a terrible idea, because my heart actually aches with emptiness.

2. Hot showers.  Though the cold shower is refreshing at times, there is something to be said for shaving your legs in warm water and not having to worry that all of your hair is going to grow back immediately.

3.Skim milk.  Dear god, I would kill someone for an ice cold glass of mayfield right now. When I get home, I might drink milk with every meal just because I can.

4. Common courtesy.  I might look like a gringa, but I live here, you Nicaraguan jerks- don't think that just because you are brown means that you can cut in line in front of me every where we go.  Don't even think about it... I will tell you how I feel- because- I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE SAYING WHEN YOU TALK ABOUT ME INFRONT OF ME.

5. Leaving my clothes in the dryer.  At home, you do a load of laundry, and you can leave your clothes in the dryer for a few hours and not worry about them.  That is not the case here.  Patricia, I am convinced, watches all of us as we wash our clothes.  Once that buzzer goes off, if we aren't there to retrieve our ropas, she swoops in and acquires more bounty for her bazaar.  I am missing, actually, all of my socks.

6.  Fake mexican food.   Soft Tacos, cheese dip... processed magic.   In 19 days, I will sit down at El Azteca and tears of joy just might fill my eyes.

God bless America. 

Last year, a group from St. Louis joined us for a week.   Though the group was full of personality, not too much sticks with me from the year before.  There were, as always, a few nights sprinkled with life conversations and laughter, a few powerful devotionals; but, as a whole, it was another group in the mix of many.   I do, however, remember, ALOT of general murmuring about work, and the case often seemed to be that much wasn't done after 3 pm.

This year, the same group came in and I expected the same- laughter, good conversations here and there, but nothing much past that.

I was wrong.

St. Louis came into our houses with hearts and arms extended.  I found that I never wanted to go to bed, I never wanted to be in my room, I never wanted to not be surrounded by this group of people.  

If I had my doubts before, God found this house last week and was standing in our midst in the most prevalent way yet.  I can't put my finger on it exactly, what made last week stand out above anything else I have experienced yet.   There was something, though, about the adamant faith dwelling in the casa last week that changed things.  Something about our voices raised in vibrant praise each night, something about the way this group disregarded logistics and just loved the Lord.  I can't place it, but I just know it.

On our last evening together, we paraded out to the new property with guitars in hand- sneaking through our neighbor's rice fields to get there, with a little thrill of terror creeping through my heart, as we were doing a bit of trespassing... and we weren't terribly inconspicuous with 60 people.  

But we made it.  And, looking a little cultic I am sure, we made a circle and began to pray for what God had in store for that plot of land and for the hearts standing on it. Between prayers, during prayers, we sang- with voices raised, we sang. Yet again, God finds me in song, but this time, it wasn't me being moved by the people singing as it was with my sweet sacred heart girls, it was God shouting at me in song....

"You said,  'Ask and you will receive whatever you need.'

You said, 'Pray and I'll hear from heaven, and I'll heal your land.'

you said your glory will fill the earth, like water to sea.

you said, 'Lift up your eyes, the harvest is here, the kingdom is near.'

You said, 'Ask and I'll give the Nations to you...'

Oh, Lord, that's the cry of my heart!  Distant shores and the islands

will see your light... You said...."

It makes me want to ask for the Nations.