tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-176815962024-03-13T06:55:27.013-06:00Pensajes de PamelaEach day holds its own grace. And God makes everything beautiful in His time.pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.comBlogger506125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-54238211006496256932009-06-17T22:07:00.001-06:002009-06-17T22:08:32.770-06:00a new blog for a new chapterIf you'd like to follow my adventures back in Texas, you can do so here:<br /><br />pameladelcarmen.blogspot.compamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-25710924825480891632009-05-02T19:34:00.003-06:002009-05-02T19:49:26.178-06:00at the end of a chapter<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sfz2jBcArtI/AAAAAAAAAsU/obQZNBUid-I/s1600-h/DespedidaNehemias+072.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sfz2jBcArtI/AAAAAAAAAsU/obQZNBUid-I/s320/DespedidaNehemias+072.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331407140441599698" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">“God is always speaking to us, and always teaching us, and obviously He wanted you to learn something today. So learn, and don´t look back. Don´t worry about mistakes. No one is perfect, no one has a script. At the end of the story, you´re going to be who you´re afraid to be.”</span><br /><br />Those were the words spoken to me in July 2006 by Iskra, one of the girls who would become one of my closest Nica friends during these last 3 years. And I had almost forgotten about them until a timely comment by my friend Dawn brought them back to mind.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">God is always speaking to us…always teaching us.<br /></span><br />Even though I wasn’t always listening, God has taught me a lot since I left San Antonio three years ago—about Himself, about people, about culture, about development, about strength and weakness, about grace and forgiveness, about community, about love. Each of those deserves pages of reflection, which hopefully will come as I slowly try to process all that has happened in these last three years.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">No one is perfect—no one has a script.</span><br /><br />Even if I had the script before I started, I never would have believed it. Would I have believed that most fulfilling aspect of my work would simply be talking to Nicaraguans and sharing their stories with the world? Would I have believed that I would have seen ¾ of the country and been amazed by its beauty rather than crushed by its poverty? Would I have believed that I would feel the very farthest from God I have ever felt in my life in the middle of the most intentional time of service to Him? Would I have believed that my roommate would become my best friend—a friend for life?<br /><br />Living cross-culturally exposed my weaknesses and frailty in ways I did not expect. But for all the mistakes I know I made, the thing that counts is—as I remember hearing long ago—not what you do, but what you do next. I can only hope that what I did “next” is what will be remembered.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">You’re going to be who you’re afraid to be.</span><br /><br />Fear keeps us from stepping out in faith. Fear keeps us from believing that God’s best is better than our well-thought-out plans. Fear keeps us from experiencing, living in, and sharing the plenitud [fullness] of God’s love. Fear keeps us from accepting our true identity and worth as beloved children of God in Christ.<br /><br />A year ago, I was living in fear—fear of punishment for sin committed, fear of loving again, fear of being myself, fear that God’s purpose for my time in Nicaragua might never be fulfilled.<br /><br />1 John tells us that “Perfect love drives out fear.” I’ve written before about how the unconditional love of a few friends and a new community of faith brought a genuine smile back to my face and joy to my heart. But not until this week did I realize that Iskra was right.<br /><br />As one chapter ends and another begins, I have become the person I was meant to be.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sfz2jTBuoiI/AAAAAAAAAsc/KYkGL0_LH7E/s1600-h/pam+029.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sfz2jTBuoiI/AAAAAAAAAsc/KYkGL0_LH7E/s320/pam+029.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331407145163203106" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Adelante!!!</span><br /></div>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-28934597295584901492009-04-21T18:44:00.003-06:002009-04-21T18:58:07.797-06:00quality time<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Se5rRKjxo7I/AAAAAAAAAsE/V71r4t9hF78/s1600-h/SanMarcosApril09+006.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Se5rRKjxo7I/AAAAAAAAAsE/V71r4t9hF78/s320/SanMarcosApril09+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327313351862231986" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Se5rQ_dnD3I/AAAAAAAAAr8/A01Y8nuiYUA/s1600-h/DespedidaCECNIC+015.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Se5rQ_dnD3I/AAAAAAAAAr8/A01Y8nuiYUA/s320/DespedidaCECNIC+015.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327313348883582834" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Se5rQuC-nbI/AAAAAAAAAr0/rAnhtGYXW4E/s1600-h/CumpleYaoska+006.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Se5rQuC-nbI/AAAAAAAAAr0/rAnhtGYXW4E/s320/CumpleYaoska+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327313344208477618" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Se5rQc9XOxI/AAAAAAAAArs/ldxa2-JkV3U/s1600-h/JesusAdrianRomero+005.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Se5rQc9XOxI/AAAAAAAAArs/ldxa2-JkV3U/s320/JesusAdrianRomero+005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327313339621522194" /></a><br />It's all I have left really--a few precious days to spend with all the people I love in this amazing country---and so that is what I have been doing. In between selling off my furniture and trying to figure out how to fit 3 years into 2 suitcases and organizing files and leaving things in a good place for the person who will take my place, I have been spending every other spare moment with dear, dear friends. And I couldn't be happier. <br /><br />Maybe I'm still in denial that I'm really leaving, but, in a way, maybe it's better I save the sadness for the other side... when I can no longer look into their eyes and hear their voices daily...when the daily commute no longer involves fruit stands and crazy ayudantes....when instead of endless trees and sunsets, skyscrapers fill my horizon...when I no longer speak Spanish for 6-10 hours a day...when I can no longer buy gallo pinto off the street, when the radio no longer plays bachata, when the fresh green mountains are much further away than a 3 hour bus ride...<br /><br />When I am home, but maybe never really home again.pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-44047651354892672612009-04-16T09:20:00.004-06:002009-04-16T09:34:59.541-06:00esperanza verde<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SedP7Aq2Z2I/AAAAAAAAArk/BrYzfIx5rN8/s1600-h/IMG_7021.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SedP7Aq2Z2I/AAAAAAAAArk/BrYzfIx5rN8/s320/IMG_7021.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325312959599503202" /></a><br />In Spanish, it means "Green Hope", and indeed this farm high in the mountains of Matagalpa was a super green reprieve from the oppressive heat of Managua.<br /><br />Andrea and I escaped for a couple days just before Easter--probably our last trip to the region together--and we had a wonderful time hiking all over the place, relaxing, reading, and reflecting, and drinking amazing coffee and eating delicious homecooked meals.<br /><br />Unfortunately, my camera battery died like 3 hours after I got there, but here are some of the photos Andrea took. :-)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SedPQaEPG9I/AAAAAAAAArc/MjOxUhEpZcs/s1600-h/IMG_7105.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SedPQaEPG9I/AAAAAAAAArc/MjOxUhEpZcs/s320/IMG_7105.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325312227682491346" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SedO8NI_fiI/AAAAAAAAArU/uJ9NZ5kG3tI/s1600-h/IMG_7059.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SedO8NI_fiI/AAAAAAAAArU/uJ9NZ5kG3tI/s320/IMG_7059.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325311880615394850" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SedOUWBvAzI/AAAAAAAAArM/BHvt02zVmq8/s1600-h/IMG_7018.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SedOUWBvAzI/AAAAAAAAArM/BHvt02zVmq8/s320/IMG_7018.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325311195806106418" border="0" /></a>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-32315661683844960302009-04-04T19:00:00.004-06:002009-04-07T16:17:31.710-06:00transitions<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SdgEMmKRZnI/AAAAAAAAArE/rjvRH7gNOD0/s1600-h/april09+018.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SdgEMmKRZnI/AAAAAAAAArE/rjvRH7gNOD0/s320/april09+018.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321007574186813042" /></a><br />I’ve been avoiding the obligatory “my whole life is changing” post for a while now, but with the one-month-left-in-Nicaragua marker having passed this week, I figure it’s time.<br /><br />First, I have to say that the last 6-8 months of my life here have been amazing. Even in difficult or stressful work or cultural situations, I am truly happy here. I love my life. I love my roommates, the North American friends I have made, and my Nicaraguan friends in my office and in my church. <br /><br />I love everything about this country—well, except for the recent oppressive heat, the dust, and the sketchy guys who made rude comments on my way to work—and I would come back in a heartbeat if God opened a door again down the road. <br /><br />When I think about leaving, I get teary eyed. I think about all the amazing, faith-filled Nicaraguans I have met, people who have taught me so much with their love, their hospitality, their trust in a God who is bigger than the poverty that surrounds them. I think about the people who welcomed me into their homes and gave a bed and a meal without even really knowing me. I think about the breathtaking places I have gotten to see—volcanoes, beaches, mountains, rivers, colonial cities—and how sadly, so many Nicaraguans have never realized the beauty and richness of their own country. <br /><br />I think about how my own faith has been challenged and stretched, strengthened and confirmed. I think about all the things I never thought I would ever do that God allowed me to do—from little things like ride a horse to bigger things like build trust-filled relationships with Nicaraguans. I think about the concrete things that maybe I am leaving behind just a little bit better than I found them, and the intangible things I may be leaving behind that I will never know about.<br /><br />I think about how God has protected me—from serious illness, injury, crime and/or accidents. (Hmmm, except there was that one time with a motorcycle….). I think about how He has been faithful when I have been faithless.<br /><br />And the most recent evidence of that faithfulness is the news two weeks ago that I was accepted to graduate school. For much of the last year, I wasn’t sure what I was going to be doing when I went back home, but now it’s settled. For those of you out there who didn’t see my Facebook message, I’ll be pursuing a Masters degree in Latin American Studies at the University of Texas in Austin beginning in August.<br /> <br />So, on May 1st, I will get on a plane back to Texas and begin a whole new chapter. And while the transition—which has already begun—will be hard, emotionally, spiritually, physically, and in all other ways—I am also happy as I prepare and look forward. <br /><br />For I know in Whom I have believed, and I am confident that this story has a good, good end.pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-82769603683758735882009-03-23T11:25:00.003-06:002009-03-23T11:35:36.036-06:00flores de nicaragua<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/ScfH4-lS8_I/AAAAAAAAAq8/Hzwf-YDDX3w/s1600-h/March09+048.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 241px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/ScfH4-lS8_I/AAAAAAAAAq8/Hzwf-YDDX3w/s320/March09+048.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316437666820191218" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/ScfHBBMpeLI/AAAAAAAAAq0/luvFZ1H1-WY/s1600-h/March09+049.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/ScfHBBMpeLI/AAAAAAAAAq0/luvFZ1H1-WY/s320/March09+049.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316436705449441458" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/ScfHA5xcI1I/AAAAAAAAAqs/zMkdh9gDmu0/s1600-h/March09+029.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/ScfHA5xcI1I/AAAAAAAAAqs/zMkdh9gDmu0/s320/March09+029.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316436703456273234" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/ScfHAsf632I/AAAAAAAAAqk/_6KEheYDC5U/s1600-h/March09+024.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/ScfHAsf632I/AAAAAAAAAqk/_6KEheYDC5U/s320/March09+024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316436699893129058" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/ScfG_-SFbNI/AAAAAAAAAqc/vil89VxQxtk/s1600-h/March09+013.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/ScfG_-SFbNI/AAAAAAAAAqc/vil89VxQxtk/s320/March09+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316436687487069394" border="0" /></a>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-25705240885090254272009-03-04T16:05:00.003-06:002009-03-04T16:27:50.582-06:00fotos de tierra tica<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa7-QHltwqI/AAAAAAAAAqU/aNMbrZtamyU/s1600-h/CostaRica09+109.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa7-QHltwqI/AAAAAAAAAqU/aNMbrZtamyU/s320/CostaRica09+109.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309460563584991906" border="0" /></a><br />En el barrio la Carpio cerca de San Jose/In a Nica neighborhood in San Jose we met Maria Jesus (green shirt) and her husband Alexis (a mason) and her family. Even though they've been living in Costa Rica over 10 years, life is still hard. Still, Alexis says, "Por que voy a quejar? (Why am I going to complain?) Dios me ha dado el aire sin limite. (God gives me air to breathe without limit).<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa7-P0VFWCI/AAAAAAAAAqM/VP5vp0Df0cw/s1600-h/CostaRica09+090.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa7-P0VFWCI/AAAAAAAAAqM/VP5vp0Df0cw/s320/CostaRica09+090.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309460558414960674" border="0" /></a>A church in Cartago, the old capital/Una iglesia en Cartago, la vieja capital<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa7-PiOBtSI/AAAAAAAAAqE/CAJ9WDzqDp8/s1600-h/CostaRica09+084.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa7-PiOBtSI/AAAAAAAAAqE/CAJ9WDzqDp8/s320/CostaRica09+084.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309460553553524002" border="0" /></a>Yes, we were above the clouds at Volcan Irazu/Estuvimos encima de las nubes en Volcan Irazu<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa7-PDyH8dI/AAAAAAAAAp8/O2Oo2A9pYOQ/s1600-h/CostaRica09+080.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa7-PDyH8dI/AAAAAAAAAp8/O2Oo2A9pYOQ/s320/CostaRica09+080.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309460545383428562" border="0" /></a>La vista preciosa/The incredible view (looks a lot like Masaya Volcano from this angle, actually!)<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa7-O2imJmI/AAAAAAAAAp0/Rs301sLW3wQ/s1600-h/CostaRica09+070.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa7-O2imJmI/AAAAAAAAAp0/Rs301sLW3wQ/s320/CostaRica09+070.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309460541828638306" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa78tKnmHsI/AAAAAAAAAps/YEXRYNLGx9w/s1600-h/CostaRica09+065.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa78tKnmHsI/AAAAAAAAAps/YEXRYNLGx9w/s320/CostaRica09+065.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309458863591136962" border="0" /></a><br />Not sure what the green liquid in the center is...but it IS an active volcano<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa78s0PpS_I/AAAAAAAAApk/IJ7rP3f3WKI/s1600-h/CostaRica09+062.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa78s0PpS_I/AAAAAAAAApk/IJ7rP3f3WKI/s320/CostaRica09+062.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309458857585101810" border="0" /></a>Me, my roommate Alicia, and the students in front of the crater<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa78sYoI6UI/AAAAAAAAApc/tp53iwmjHgs/s1600-h/CostaRica09+053.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa78sYoI6UI/AAAAAAAAApc/tp53iwmjHgs/s320/CostaRica09+053.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309458850171644226" border="0" /></a>Not quite sure what this animal is, but it was hanging out in the parking lot<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa78sGjLe9I/AAAAAAAAApU/OUy2FNmwLBM/s1600-h/CostaRica09+034.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa78sGjLe9I/AAAAAAAAApU/OUy2FNmwLBM/s320/CostaRica09+034.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309458845319003090" border="0" /></a>From the Precolumbian Gold Museum in San Jose--awesome!<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa78r6Q-2rI/AAAAAAAAApM/CDZmN_GXdqg/s1600-h/CostaRica09+022.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/Sa78r6Q-2rI/AAAAAAAAApM/CDZmN_GXdqg/s320/CostaRica09+022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309458842021452466" border="0" /></a>A former Costa Rican president statue (the one who eliminated the CR military in 1948) looks out over the San Jose skyline as the flag waves in the distance.<br /></div>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-88178223153004564052009-02-21T21:51:00.005-06:002009-02-21T22:06:21.367-06:00beatrice<div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SaDNkeZmgtI/AAAAAAAAAo0/V1MNriTkFz0/s1600-h/OjocheFeb09+016.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SaDNkeZmgtI/AAAAAAAAAo0/V1MNriTkFz0/s320/OjocheFeb09+016.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5305466387561874130" border="0" /></a>“<span style="font-style: italic;">So justice is far from us, and right-eousness does not reach us. We look for light, but all is darkness; for brightness, but we walk in deep shadows…</span>” (Is 59:9)<br /></div><br />Today my heart walks in deep shadows and justice seems far off.<br /><br />Justice IS far off for Beatrice—a woman who represents thousands unnamed others. A woman I met as the golden light of late afternoon bathes the western horizon, A woman who has been abandoned by her husband, and who is looked after only by her teenage daughter. A woman who lives in a partially constructed house on a hill in a dry northwestern pueblo, separated from the elements by a roof and a thin layer of plastic. A woman whose feet carry the dust of a dozen weekly trips to the clay-rich hills. A woman who spends all week making pottery to sell in the nearest market town Saturdays and Sundays, making $5-6 on which to feed herself and her daughter.<br /><br />A woman whose conversion to Jesus has put a smile on her face and joy in her heart, but whose pain of rejection remains ever present, palpable in her faraway gaze. A woman who, together with her daughter, carefully guards the hope of a better future. In this future, her caring and servant hearted daughter Genny can go to school, can become a teacher, can fulfill her dreams. But this dream, which seems so simple--a mere $20 a month would cover her daughter’s travel and course materials—remains far off. Genny’s love for her mother shines in her eyes, in the tender way she holds her hand as they sit together on the hammock, and she will never pursue this goal while her mother needs her help to survive.<br /><br />So, yes, tonight, I look for light, but my soul walks in deep shadows….thinking of Beatrice and Genny.pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-84184876909670126722009-02-10T21:30:00.003-06:002009-02-10T21:49:50.559-06:00as the world spins madly on<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SZJJ2hi7vLI/AAAAAAAAAos/_z6UTWg33ns/s1600-h/Bayardo+Arce+036.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SZJJ2hi7vLI/AAAAAAAAAos/_z6UTWg33ns/s320/Bayardo+Arce+036.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301380912435150002" border="0" /></a>I know, I haven't been around much lately. The truth is, lately I've been much more interested in living my life here than writing about it. Because it's slowly but inevitably sinking in that I have just two and a half months left in Nicaragua. Believe me, I could tell you new versions of old stories about crazy bus rides, good food, enriching conversations, challenging tasks, inspiring people, political drama, tragic injustice, and reasons for hope...<br /><br />But, for the moment, all I want to do is treasure every special moment in my heart, look at each person I meet deeply to remember every feature of their face, listen ever so carefully to every word spoken by friends, smell (almost) every odor that wafts through the air I breathe each day, and experience every second as if it truly could be my last in this land of lakes of volcanoes that I love so much.<br /><br />So if you don't see much of me around these parts between now and May, please be patient with me. Many of the stories of these last few months may just have to wait to be told face to face.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">2 JOHN 12</span>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-10616612452370903832009-01-28T11:49:00.002-06:002009-01-28T12:06:15.626-06:00lo dichoso<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SYCecTv8H1I/AAAAAAAAAok/k1MN-__ZNMc/s1600-h/Kukra+Hill+and+Bluefields+063.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SYCecTv8H1I/AAAAAAAAAok/k1MN-__ZNMc/s320/Kukra+Hill+and+Bluefields+063.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296407370962575186" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >"Dichoso soy más que el árbol</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >(More blessed am I than a tree)</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES">Porque este es apenas sensitivo,<br /></span></i></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" lang="ES">(For it's barely sensitive)</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES"><o:p></o:p><br /><br />Y más que la piedra dura, por que esta ya no siente<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />(And more than the hard stone, for it already does not feel)</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES">Pues lo mas grande de ser vivo<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">(For the greatest part of being alive),</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES">es que el dolor, no me quita lo vivo<br />(<span style="font-weight: bold;">is that pain does not take away my life</span>).<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES"><o:p> </o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES">Y el mayor agrado es tener una vida consiente<br />(<span style="font-weight: bold;">and the highest pleasure is a conscience-filled life)</span>;<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES">Ser y saber<span style=""> </span>quien soy<br /></span></i></span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" lang="ES">(to be and to know who I am),</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES">por que existo<span style=""> </span>y cual es mi propósito<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">(why I exist and what my purpose is)</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES">Y la satisfacción de haber sido<span style=""> </span>y un futuro seguro<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">(and the satisfaction of having been, and a secure future)</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES">Y el sentimiento tranquilo pese a estar mañana muerto<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">(and a peaceful feeling despite being dead tomorrow)</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES">Y disfrutar la vida, y su amanecer y lo que conozco<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">(and to enjoy life and its waking and what I know)</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES">Y en lo que creo<br />(<span style="font-weight: bold;">and in what I believe)</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES">Y la vida que ofrece sus frescos racimos<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />(and life which offers its fresh clusters)</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES">Y la tumba que aguarda hasta el día<span style=""> </span>que vaya a<span style=""> </span>mi breve descanso<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />(and the grave that waits for the day that I go to my brief rest).</span><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;" align="center"><span style="font-size:100%;"><i><span lang="ES"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Y saber a donde voy, y de quien vengo.</span><br />(and to know where I am going and from whom I come)"</span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center">-<span style="font-weight: bold;">Ruben Dario</span>, Nicaragua's most famous poet<br /><i><span lang="ES" style="font-size:13;"></span></i><span lang="ES" style="font-size:13;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-32939774117907943782009-01-27T13:05:00.003-06:002009-01-27T14:20:16.728-06:00a bottle's tale<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SX9rr42kRWI/AAAAAAAAAoc/zsq9_rwsvts/s1600-h/Kukra+Hill+and+Bluefields+027.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SX9rr42kRWI/AAAAAAAAAoc/zsq9_rwsvts/s320/Kukra+Hill+and+Bluefields+027.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5296070088550794594" border="0" /></a>there once was a bottle named nalgene<br />who left managua one evening full and clean<br />on a journey across the forest green land<br />to serve with a small but energetic band<br /><br />over bridges and rivers and many a hill<br />in the pitch black of night where all was so still<br />until finally the destination came into view<br />and bottle, like all, uttered a "whew!"<br /><br />after a midmorning nap and a tasty lunch<br />it was off to paint for the motivated bunch<br />and the bottle changed hands many a time<br />growing increasing spotty with paint and grime<br /><br />but this did not matter to the thirsty crowd<br />"where is it now," they wondered aloud<br />for the sun grew strong and the work more intense<br />conversations fell quiet and muscles grew tense<br /><br />even so their spirits and joy were sustained<br />by daily gallo pinto and choral refrains<br />and the laughter and joking filled the coastal air<br />while with the paint they took not quite so much care<br /><br />adorning their faces with shapes of all kinds<br />the banter was fierce and quick were their minds<br />and with paint covered hands they sought the bottle still<br />to quench their thirst and avoid falling ill<br /><br />in the cool of the evening the nalgene had a wee bit of rest<br />for the group would sing songs and share prayer requests<br />by the light of their cell phones the scriptures together they read<br />and after a brief time of fellowship it was off to bed<br /><br />by the end of the week the bottle's color had changed<br />from a dark musky green to spotted white and light orange<br />the many hands that had held it leaving evidence behind<br />that the days of work and play and growth were of a special kind<br /><br />for the bottle held stories of sweat and smiles<br />of ladders climbed and traveled miles<br />of prayers spoken, bonds formed, and sweaters shared<br />of accidents, sickness, healing, and loving care<br /><br />yet the nalgene's tale ends on a bittersweet note<br />for after a trip down the river on a motor boat<br />in the rush to get into town it was left all alone<br />"oh no, it's gone", her owner cried with a moan<br /><br />but thankfully the memories live on in her photos and in her soul<br />back in managua, with her smile rich and her heart full<br /><br />-pjn 1/27/09<br /><br />Album here: <span>http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2045656&l=db652&id=24902194<br /></span>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-56946730735211115222009-01-18T16:18:00.003-06:002009-01-18T16:49:03.407-06:00to Kukra hill<style></style><div>Tonight I'm going on a journey I have never been on: a 5-6 hour bus ride across central Nicaragua to El Rama, where the highway ends. From there, I'll take a truck on roads barely passable another unknown quantity of hours to a community called Kukra Hill, just west of Bluefields (located on the Atlantic Ocean) in the RAAS (the Southern Atlantic Autonomous Region of Nicaragua).<br /><br />Why? Kukra Hill is the site of a recent Baptist Church plant which I and 11 of my fellow jovenes from the First Baptist Church of Managua are going to support through painting/construction projects and outreach for the next 5 days, sharing the love of Christ in an integrated way with the people of this semi-rural community.<br /><br />Unlike some areas of the Atlantic Coast where creolle English or Miskito (an indigenous language) is spoken, Spanish is the predominant language here. Most of the population is non-practicing (cultural) Catholic. Some people have animals. Most people live off the land, growing rice, beans, corn and plantains.<br /><br /></div> <div> </div> <div>This will be my first time east of Matagalpa--and my first time to participate in a bi-cultural "mission trip" where Nicaraguans go to serve their fellow Nicaraguans. It will no doubt be an amazing learning experience, and I promise to share my stories and photos from the trip in this space when I return this coming Saturday.<br /><br /></div> <div> </div> <div>Finally, since I will be away from internet in the meantime, I offer you this quote from a poem I recently read that fits with the events in my country this week, as well the one I currently call home.</div> <div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; line-height: normal;"><span style=";font-family:'Arial','sans-serif';font-size:10;" ><blockquote>"in the face of the intolerable<br />this is the time to insist<br />the time to become whole<br />and give back what you’ve learned in wholeness<br />eyelid of light<br />a disciplined gift of pure grace<br />for anyone who can breathe and for those<br />whose breath was stolen or just left them" -Kathy Engel, "Inaugural"</blockquote></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; line-height: normal;">Peace.<br /><span style=";font-family:'Arial','sans-serif';font-size:10;" ></span></p></div>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-20797523764019539192009-01-15T10:21:00.004-06:002009-01-15T10:41:43.928-06:00recent days in photos<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SW9kI4aFEPI/AAAAAAAAAn4/0A1P2olDxHM/s1600-h/Bayardo+Arce+029.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SW9kI4aFEPI/AAAAAAAAAn4/0A1P2olDxHM/s320/Bayardo+Arce+029.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291558190927122674" border="0" /></a>Tuesday I was in Chinandega visiting a new community and gathering information for a report. Hopefully we will be starting a new Child Development Program there this spring. These are some the kids who followed me around as I accompanied the FH team who was also in the area doing home visits. They won my heart with their smiles and carefree love...<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SW9kInQYSNI/AAAAAAAAAnw/UO0bU5f0e0w/s1600-h/Jan+09+028.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SW9kInQYSNI/AAAAAAAAAnw/UO0bU5f0e0w/s320/Jan+09+028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291558186323036370" border="0" /></a>Over the weekend I attended the annual leadership formation "campamento" of CECNIC, the Nicaraguan version of IVCF. Above is the familia Mendoza (from L to R: Carlos, Julio, Josue, Aura, Yaoska--all brothers and sisters), special friends of mine from church who also have a history of involvement with the Christian college student movement here. They delighted their fellow students and recent graduates with rendition of popular protest music from Violeta Parra (Chile) during la noche cultural Saturday.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SW9kH-XCCFI/AAAAAAAAAno/cg4xQjtdnuk/s1600-h/Jan+09+020.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SW9kH-XCCFI/AAAAAAAAAno/cg4xQjtdnuk/s320/Jan+09+020.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291558175345084498" border="0" /></a>Me and Denisse, one of the students at the campamento who I also went to Mexico with this past July for a regional conference.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SW9kHvkTJDI/AAAAAAAAAng/w7kF83oL4xo/s1600-h/Jan+09+014.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SW9kHvkTJDI/AAAAAAAAAng/w7kF83oL4xo/s320/Jan+09+014.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5291558171374199858" border="0" /></a>The campamento was held on the southern outskirts of Managua at a place called Villa Esperanza, which is actually a home for girls who are trying to make a better life for themselves than what's possible in La Chureca (the Managua dump). This is the view from the hill on the property. In the background is the "Loma de Nejapa", which I see every day on my way to and from the office.<br /></div>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-18999135934743145852009-01-03T07:49:00.002-06:002009-01-03T07:59:28.167-06:00the return of the butterflies<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SV9tB9s1AsI/AAAAAAAAAm0/oVI4YIYCcss/s1600-h/butterfly.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SV9tB9s1AsI/AAAAAAAAAm0/oVI4YIYCcss/s320/butterfly.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5287064368066134722" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">In His time and in His love<br />even the deepest wound finds<br />a balm that soothes<br />even the darkest cave finds<br />a flame that illuminates<br />even the coldest night finds<br />a hearth that warms<br />even the most parched throat finds<br />a fountain of living water…<br />and even the loneliest soul<br />finds a kindred spirit who loves without condition.-pjn<br /><br /></span><span>In 2008, I was that woman who had been deeply wounded, who lived in dark caves, who despaired in cold nights of the soul, who longed for water in a dry and weary land. Who waited for love.<br /><br />Looking back, I can clearly divide this past year into two parts—before and after my trip to Mexico in July. The first 6 months of 2008 were probably the hardest of my entire life….for various reasons that included a relationship-gone-bad, extreme homesickness, and the sensation of great distance from the Lord. During that time, I truly despaired of ever coming out of my emotional and spiritual valley.<br /><br />But God is good and He knows what we need before we even know how to ask for it. When I went to Mexico with the Nica college students from CECNIC for a leadership formation conference, I wasn’t expecting a miracle—I was just hoping for a little encouragement. But what I got was so much more. While I was there, God broke through the layers of the dark cocoon where I had been hiding in my pain, and the seed of a friendship was planted that would help me decisively turn a corner in September and October in my relationship with Christ.<br /><br />At the same time, I began to attend a new church where I made some new friends, a few of whom have become extremely close to me over the last 3 months. Healing has come in the form of relational vulnerability, the renewed sensation of belonging, and some tender brotherly love. My roomie told me last week that she could see that my joy has returned, and indeed it has. The process is not over yet, I know, but as 2009 begins, I feel the veracity of Paul’s words in my soul: “the old is gone, the new has come.”<br /><br />Aleluia, the cocoon is gone, and the time of butterflies has come.<br /><br />Happy New Year!</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-82559243898645309532009-01-02T13:05:00.002-06:002009-01-02T17:59:22.675-06:00adventures with meara<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SV6qI_J6tUI/AAAAAAAAAms/PjaunHFZNKk/s1600-h/Meara%27s+visit+012.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SV6qI_J6tUI/AAAAAAAAAms/PjaunHFZNKk/s320/Meara%27s+visit+012.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286850083948246338" border="0" /></a><br />This past week while both my roommates were back in North America, I had the amazing blessing of a visit from my dear friend Meara from Dec. 26th til Jan 1st. We had many fun adventures, including a trip to two different volcanoes (Mombacho and Masaya), a visit to a community where FH works and to the house of a Nehemiah Center co-worker and family, a trek to the beach, a close call with some street fireworks, nd much, much more. A few photos are below; check out the full album <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2044343&l=f92e5&id=24902194">here</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SV5pX5z8LMI/AAAAAAAAAmk/A6qG6fN9zaA/s1600-h/Meara%27s+visit+013.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SV5pX5z8LMI/AAAAAAAAAmk/A6qG6fN9zaA/s320/Meara%27s+visit+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286778871956122818" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SV5pXUvkKsI/AAAAAAAAAmc/36fUpCFhgI0/s1600-h/Meara%27s+visit+055.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SV5pXUvkKsI/AAAAAAAAAmc/36fUpCFhgI0/s320/Meara%27s+visit+055.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286778862005660354" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SV5pW87ewjI/AAAAAAAAAmU/f3F8IrqffX8/s1600-h/Meara%27s+visit+040.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SV5pW87ewjI/AAAAAAAAAmU/f3F8IrqffX8/s320/Meara%27s+visit+040.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286778855613186610" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SV5pWmIMHNI/AAAAAAAAAmM/gIsflN-YWQc/s1600-h/Meara%27s+visit+028.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SV5pWmIMHNI/AAAAAAAAAmM/gIsflN-YWQc/s320/Meara%27s+visit+028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286778849492475090" border="0" /></a>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-34224659332017173512008-12-23T23:43:00.004-06:002008-12-26T10:00:02.461-06:00the last two weeks<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SVHPNRMzYZI/AAAAAAAAAl0/QNNrXvoo_IQ/s1600-h/Christmas+Season+PIB+2+018.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SVHPNRMzYZI/AAAAAAAAAl0/QNNrXvoo_IQ/s320/Christmas+Season+PIB+2+018.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283231664744653202" border="0" /></a>After the Christmas concert in the Teatro Nacional on December 16th with some of the choir members from my church<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SVHPM9Nh11I/AAAAAAAAAls/qz_0j7DzaR8/s1600-h/Christmas+Season+PIB+2+001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SVHPM9Nh11I/AAAAAAAAAls/qz_0j7DzaR8/s320/Christmas+Season+PIB+2+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283231659378988882" border="0" /></a>Me and my gorgeous roommates the night of the concert<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SVHPMu3Lp3I/AAAAAAAAAlk/rW_gpy3NvGM/s1600-h/Guatemala+Dec+08+126.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SVHPMu3Lp3I/AAAAAAAAAlk/rW_gpy3NvGM/s320/Guatemala+Dec+08+126.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283231655527163762" border="0" /></a>Guatemala--Andrea and I took a quick trip to Lago Atitlan and Antigua the week before Christmas--the full album is <a href="http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2044020&l=2ac1f&id=24902194">here</a><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SVHPMRKC_0I/AAAAAAAAAlc/UrRGbNzvIKU/s1600-h/Guatemala+Dec+08+118.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SVHPMRKC_0I/AAAAAAAAAlc/UrRGbNzvIKU/s320/Guatemala+Dec+08+118.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283231647553224514" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SVT9ykeNdQI/AAAAAAAAAmE/hkhC0corBpI/s1600-h/Christmas+08+022.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SVT9ykeNdQI/AAAAAAAAAmE/hkhC0corBpI/s320/Christmas+08+022.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284127308038108418" border="0" /></a>Me and my friend Felix from church, who invited me to spend Christmas eve with his sweet family....we had a really nice time--the food was delicious and the company was even better. And the fireworks at midnight were beautiful!<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Feliz Navidad!</div>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-13496906170929778752008-12-14T15:26:00.003-06:002008-12-14T15:53:30.287-06:00despedidas del año<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SUV8DWB53aI/AAAAAAAAAk8/MreghCjaKws/s1600-h/Despedidas+2008+013.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SUV8DWB53aI/AAAAAAAAAk8/MreghCjaKws/s320/Despedidas+2008+013.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279762535056792994" border="0" /></a>The Dordt students left Saturday morning after completing their semester in Nicaragua. On their last night we took them out to dinner to celebrate. Above, me and the senior girls from the program...ah, and my "pregnant lady" shirt. (No, I'm not pregnant, it's just de moda here.)<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SUV7gfcNOuI/AAAAAAAAAk0/J35A1yl24jE/s1600-h/Despedidas+2008+004.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SUV7gfcNOuI/AAAAAAAAAk0/J35A1yl24jE/s320/Despedidas+2008+004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279761936287611618" border="0" /></a>My dear friends Freddy and Leonor and their two adorable children Sarai and recien nacido Josue Javier. I went to visit them last week when Josue was just 10 days old!! This photo was taken at our office right before the end-of-year lunch Friday, which they all came to.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SUV7A9fBlOI/AAAAAAAAAks/koYwdu-fYnY/s1600-h/Despedidas+2008+003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SUV7A9fBlOI/AAAAAAAAAks/koYwdu-fYnY/s320/Despedidas+2008+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5279761394596680930" border="0" /></a>The large and growing Nehemiah Center staff...taken in the NC courtyard.<br />Can I just say that it's so fun to have grass!!<br /></div>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-63852924244330809782008-12-12T17:05:00.002-06:002008-12-12T17:09:36.865-06:00shameless announcementI just wanted to let you all know--because I am SUPER excited--that my dear friend and long-time mission trip buddy Meara (from FPC-San Antonio) is coming to visit me the week after Christmas...and so if you are interested in sending anything down this way and you want her contact info, leave me a message here or send me an email and I will help you out. <br /><br />:-)pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-50701464551713874442008-12-10T22:38:00.002-06:002008-12-10T23:01:27.857-06:00robbed!Okay, so this actually happened almost three weeks ago, but I'm just now getting around to venting about it.<br /><br />So a few Fridays ago, right when the post-election drama began to calm down (at least enough for us to be able to leave the house), Andrea and I decided to go meet some friends at the mall for dinner. Galerias Mall, to be exact, on the trendy southside of town, which just happens to be the ritziest mall in all of Managua. It was a nice night and we decided that we'd sit outside and enjoy the fresh air instead of freezing in the air conditioning.<br /><br />I put my purse down by my feet--something I actually hardly ever do, because I'm hardly ever in a place where putting anything on the ground is a wise idea--and we proceeded to order beverages. Soon afterwards, a random guy came by our table asking if we knew "tal Senora" and for about 2 minutes, all 4 of us had our attention totally on this guy.<br /><br />He left, we continued talking, and all of a sudden I looked down, and my purse was gone. Someone had reached in through the patio fence separating us from the public walkway and grabbed it. I couldn't believe it. How many times have I been in some random taxi in the middle of the night, or on the bus with my laptop smooshed against strangers, and THIS is where it happens???? In the middle of a nice restaurant in the wealthiest sector of town??? I just kept shaking my head in disbelief.<br /><br />Of course after I got through the shock stage, I immediately canceled my bank card and that weekend got new keys copied and eventually a new phone to replace what had been stolen. I was at least grateful for the fact that neither my new driver's license, my passport, nor my camera were in my purse. I probably would have lost it.<br /><br />Nevertheless, thanks to the many challenges of getting mail from the USA to here, I have now been living without a new bank card for 3 weeks, borrowing from roommates, sending money through PayPal to people, and basically trying to maximize every cent of my "efectivo" to avoid having to get more money somehow. <br /><br />I have to say that this has been quite a stressful situation for me, as even though I live on a fairly tight budget, I normally still feel fairly independent when it comes to making purchases. But knowing I have to make money last a week instead of 2-3 days has made me think twice about taking a taxi when a bus will do, has made me eat oatmeal for dinner instead of going to the fritanga, and has made me decline social outings "por pena" of not wanting to borrow money (even knowing that eventually I could totally pay it back.)<br /><br />Perhaps I've inadvertantly gotten a better glimpse of what life is like for my Nica friends who know the price per media libra of everything in the market, who count the change in their purse and rarely have more than C$200 ($10) on their person, and who would never take a taxi, even at night because they just can't afford it.<br /><br />I guess I just need to get over it. I mean, after all, for me, this is just a temporary inconvenience. But for others--it's life as usual.pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-78453622628051065092008-12-07T17:16:00.003-06:002008-12-07T17:24:35.768-06:00of chocolate and (lack of) compassionWhat should I have done, I asked myself in retrospect. I still don’t know.<br /><br />You see, one night last week, my friend K. and I had gone on a little chocolate buying adventure in the middle of semi-upscale Managua. This is no ordinary Mars chocolate, mind you. This is gourmet made-in-Nicaragua chocolate mixed with delectable fruit flavors, nuts, and even liquor. So as the holidays are upon us, and neither of us splurge very often on anything, this seemed like a fine idea.<br /><br />We took a cab across town in the middle of rush hour, which gave us plenty of time to catch up on her adventures the previous week in Guatemala (and I am going there in 10 days—whee!! But that is another story) helping with a cool arts camp for street kids.<br /><br />When we got there, our senses were bombarded with the sights and smells of a wider variety of chocolate than I have ever seen. We each tried 5 or 6 small pieces before deciding on our purchases (K. went with the chocolate chai, and I got a variety pack—I am so indecisive!!). We then wandered down the street in search of beverages.<br /><br />Content with my ginger ale in hand and K with her fruit smoothie, we went in search of a good spot to catch a cab. We reached the main “highway” (it’s a 4 lane road, which here qualifies as a highway), and proceeded to head downhill toward a gas station which seemed like a good waiting spot. Meantime, however, we had been spotted by some young Nica girls who were hanging out at an intersection with small water bottles used for washing windshields. They immediately ran toward us, and as they got closer, pleaded with us… "Dame un peso” (give me a coin). When we refused and kept walking, they followed us, reaching for our drinks and our small white bags that held our chocolate, saying over and over “regalame, regalame” (give it to me).<br /><br />Now, there have been numerous occasions here in Nicaragua when I have willingly parted with a drink or food at the request of a child. I know it’s not going to solve the problem, but in the moment that usually doesn’t matter to me. What matters is compassion. But that night, I don’t know if I was low on compassion or just wanted to finish my drink myself because I was thirsty or what, but I refused, held onto my drink and chocolate and continued walking.<br /><br />And that’s when the unexpected happened. As we walked away, the girls threw the water from their bottles right at us, getting K’s skirt and my pants wet.<br /><br />At first I was shocked. No child (or even adult) that I have refused to give to has ever done anything like that to me. Then I was angry. Not about my clothes, which would be easily cleaned, but angry that kids who are 7-8 years old are out on the street in the first place at 7pm trying to earn money for their families. What kind of childhood is that? I see it all the time, but sometimes it gets to me anew, like I am seeing it for the first time, again.<br /><br />And then I was sad, and a little guilty. Should I have just given the girl my ginger ale? She certainly wouldn’t have thrown her water at me if I had. But, maybe that’s not the point. Even giving her the drink and moving on would have been an incomplete response. A way of avoiding the pain of the situation—hers and mine. A way of avoiding relationship. Looking back, I realize I didn’t even make eye contact with these girls. I can’t remember anything about what they looked like. Sure, it was dark, but that’s no excuse. Maybe I should have stopped and talked to them. Shown a little interest in them as individuals.<br /><br />I’ve often thought there’s nothing worse than being anonymous, someone whose name no one knows, someone whose presence no one acknowledges….I myself have lived my share of moments were I felt that sensation. And yet I perpetuated that cycle myself. It makes me wonder if I am really changing at all.<br /><br />Sigh. What should I have done? What can I do now? Will I do anything differently next time?pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-81649650378428011492008-12-04T11:47:00.004-06:002008-12-04T12:12:43.605-06:00mi arbol del refugio<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/STga52XlCZI/AAAAAAAAAkU/Z69ltKQdxRU/s1600-h/Muchachos+002.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/STga52XlCZI/AAAAAAAAAkU/Z69ltKQdxRU/s320/Muchachos+002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275996544613812626" border="0" /></a><br />The quote I chose to accompany my senior year of college yearbook photo was from Samuel T. Coleridge.<br /><br />"Friendship is a sheltering tree." In Spanish it is translated (mas o menos), "La amistad es un arbol del refugio."<br /><br />It is the best and only phrase I can come up with to describe what is has been like these last few months to finally, after two years of feeling like I was in a desert of sorts, to have found a community of people (mis queridos muchachos de la sociedad de jovenes!!) within my church who I genuinely enjoy spending time with, who have embraced and included me in their lives, who make me not miss home quite so much...and actually make me desperately want to avoid thinking about leaving next May.<br /><br />A small group of these muchachos came over to my house Tuesday night for a last minute sort of surprise visit (in Nicaragua, this sort of ultima hora get together is really the only kind there is), and "la pasamos muy bien"...laughing, sharing photos and chistes, drinking iced tea and eating (my homemade) banana bread, singing lots of Nica songs--and even some Silvio Rodriguez (with Abner's awesome guitar playing), and lots of fregando...<br /><br />I never wanted them to leave.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Muchachos, le doy gracias a Dios porque su amistad se ha convertido en algo muy especial en mi vida, y solamente les puedo decir que les quiero mucho y espero que juntos pasemos muchos mas momentos bellos en los proximos meses.</span>pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-72787017323996046272008-12-02T20:27:00.001-06:002008-12-03T12:57:36.332-06:00a thanksgiving for the soul<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/STbWipSQ-8I/AAAAAAAAAkE/46s2-eZC1ZE/s1600-h/Thanksgiving+08+048.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/STbWipSQ-8I/AAAAAAAAAkE/46s2-eZC1ZE/s320/Thanksgiving+08+048.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275639904197475266" border="0" /></a>It’s a little strange to think I haven’t been in the USA for a major holiday since 2006. Yet every one that I have spent here in Nicaragua has been memorable in its own way…and this past Thanksgiving was no different.<br /><br />It all started with the simple idea that maybe the North American college students I work with here would enjoy having a little taste of home even as they finish out their semester program with us. I’ve never “hosted” Thanksgiving dinner before (the most I’ve ever contributed is a green bean casserole or sweet potato dish or assistance to the turkey preparation), but I felt like it would be fun, and I was up for a cooking challenge.<br /><br />Thanks to the wonders of globalization, I was able to buy all the traditional fixin’s, minus the sweet potatoes and turnip. All of the girls came into Managua Thursday afternoon, and with a little teamwork (and an extra dose of baking genius from co-chef Leah) we baked two pumpkin pies, an apple pie, stuffing, and prepared the potatoes that night. <br /><br />I hit the pillow pretty exhausted that evening, but was up before the crack of dawn Friday, thanks to some early morning fireworks in my neighborhood plus a blaring stereo playing music in homenage to Mary (the annual celebration of the Purisima is this week). While the girls slept, I concocted a rub for the turkey…a little salt, pepper, sage, thyme, lemongrass and butter smothered liberally over the outside of the defrosted bird, followed by a little apple juice, which I also put (diluted) in the bottom of the pan.<br /><br />The bird safely in my tiny gas oven (the door barely shut), I threw on my running clothes and headed out to take advantage of the cool morning air. There was no sign of the noisy neighbors or any street procession like I expected. Instead, just like always, I passed women sweeping their patios, children waiting at bus stops with older siblings, and a few other walkers.<br /><br />Refreshed and much more awake, I returned to the house where most everyone was still asleep except for Leah, who had gotten up early to make caramel dip (which turned out awesome, btw). After some coffee and cornflakes, I busied myself with the mashed potatoes, broccoli and corn, while Leah took care of the gravy.<br /><br />It was a really fun morning, and as I stood alone in the kitchen making the final preparations, I heard the laughter wafting in from the living room, and my heart smiled as I remembered the joy of having a full house on this special day. (The last time I can remember a *really* full house on Thanksgiving was before my family moved to Texas, when we spent the holiday with my mom’s family in Boston.)<br /><br />In addition to the Dordt college students, we also wound up having two other special guests—another student (another Pamela, believe it or not) from Wheaton who had been doing an internship at the Nehemiah Center this semester—and Sidney, a Nicaraguan friend from church who teaches English at a local Christian academy.<br /><br />Having never prepared an entire Thanksgiving meal mostly myself (and mostly without established recipes—just my own creativity and intuition), I was unsure how everything was going to turn out (especially those crazy pie crusts…). But after we said grace and all sat down to eat on my porch, I looked around and saw a circle of contented faces around me enjoying this special meal…and I felt pure joy….the joy that only comes from giving.<br /><br />And as I think back on that moment, my soul declares with the psalmist, “Truly, my cup runneth over.”<br /><br />Happy (belated) Thanksgiving, everyone.pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-88464921895120870952008-11-29T11:54:00.004-06:002008-11-29T12:12:00.114-06:00felicidades, licenciadas<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/STGE6ZhjCKI/AAAAAAAAAb4/m7kXreHuVco/s1600-h/graduation-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/STGE6ZhjCKI/AAAAAAAAAb4/m7kXreHuVco/s320/graduation-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274142777446434978" border="0" /></a>This past weekend, I had the privilege of attending my good friend Wendy's graduation from the UNAN (the National Autonomous University of Nicaragua). I met Wendy (BA in Philology and Communication) last fall at a CECNIC (Christian Nicaraguan College Students) event, and we have shared some fun times together over the last year as well as great conversations about theology, politics, and life. Pictured with us (middle) is fellow graduate and mutual acquaintance Oneyda.<br /><br />I've attended various kinds of special occasions here in Nicaragua--weddings, wakes, baby showers, etc--and each one is unique, though often not so very different than in the United States. In this case, the one major difference is that it is customary for the graduates to process into the auditorium with a relative or friend of their choice, who then also accompany them up onto the stage when they receive their diplomas. I think that's a really neat way to honor and acknowledge publicly the support and sacrifice of others who contributed to this landmark in one's life.<br /><br />Another interesting thing is that officially getting one's Bachelor's degree here is a really big deal. Unlike in the States, where one normally would only note one's degree after one's name after getting a Masters or PhD, here in Nicaragua, college graduates are immediately called "licenciado/a" (literally, titled) and include that distinction in correspondence, etc. as a form of respect.<br /><br />Felicidades, licenciadas!!pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-47081139056922559122008-11-24T22:12:00.003-06:002008-11-25T18:04:04.451-06:00There is a moment from my senior year of high school that encapsulates my secondary school experience and haunts me into my adult years…<br /><br />I am sitting cross legged on the heater in the small hallway outside the drama department classroom which doubled as the set for the one-act play I had been cast in. Around me are 20 something fellow students, most of whom I have known for four years or more. The chatter and laughter bubbles up around me, and I watch in silence.<br /><br />Later, at home, I write these words, a poem and a song:<blockquote>I’m not a part of your world<br />I’m not a part of your world<br />There’s a circle all around me<br />But all I am is background…<span style="font-style: italic;"></span></blockquote><br />And it goes on. It’s quite the depressing tune. But it represents a feeling I have often had, in many groups throughout the years, that even in a crowd, I am still alone. Even among friends, I am alone. Even within the community of faith, I am alone. For as much as I have sought to be fully known and loved, for as often as I have gone madly confessional in this space and in more intimate conversations with friends in the hopes of being understood, there remains a part of me that will never, can never be known this side of heaven. And I suppose that is part of what has fed the perpetual doubts in my mind and heart about the love and acceptance others have for me, despite every evidence to the contrary.<br /><br />In some ways, I suppose a healthy skepticism of other’s proclaimed affection can be a useful defense against pain and hurt. It can also lead to looking for manifestations of love in the wrong places, places that appear “safer” but actually are much more destructive. Or it might mean rejecting even healthy forms of intimacy in relationships for fear of an impending rejection, or because of the inevitable realization that no person can fill my need for love completely. <br /><br />I’ve been in all of these places, both before I came to Nicaragua and since. But now I am trying to move into a new place, a space beyond fear and dependence, a space where transparency and vulnerability are sacred gifts to be given with much forethought and care, a space where I can better accept and appreciate the imperfect yet sincere love of those around me in its manifold expressions.<br /><br />I like to think of this space as a garden…a garden I have only just begun to cultivate. But one that I hope will bear much fruit in season.pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17681596.post-6250164561358936522008-11-21T16:05:00.004-06:002008-11-21T22:55:22.888-06:00huir y ser hallada<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SScx75_NgMI/AAAAAAAAAbw/LFOnrmPNqT0/s1600-h/Corn+Island+Easter+2008+030.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Yp19exSBiVI/SScx75_NgMI/AAAAAAAAAbw/LFOnrmPNqT0/s320/Corn+Island+Easter+2008+030.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271236794108444866" border="0" /></a>Echando un vistazo atrás<br />corriendo como el viento<br />tratando de escapar memorias<br />que se han convertido en pesadillas<br /><br />Escuchando el grito ahogado<br />huyendo del pasado<br />borrando el pecado<br />que no quiere ser olvidado<br /><br />Llenando mis ojos<br />tosiendo por el polvo<br />buscando un refugio<br />donde hay un pedazo de aliento<br /><br />Lagrimas y duda<br />Día y noche mi comida<br />mi corazón en esclavitud<br />alejado de la luz y virtud<br /><br />Saliendo de la sombra<br />una voz me llamaba<br />En un susurro, con ternura<br />Decía, dejes de huir, hija Mía<br />Mi amor y mi perdón son para ti<br />¿No me creía?<br /><br />O Señor, tantas veces que te he huido….y siempre me hallas. Y cuando vuelvo en sí, como el hijo prodigo, digo como tus discípulos de todas las épocas….<br /><br />A quien iré, O Cristo…tú, y solo tú tienes palabras de Vida.pamelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03161119497849881547noreply@blogger.com3