Branding

Wanna play a game? OK, great. I will show you a brand name and you tell me what it is selling--sing the jingle if you know it.
Ready?

by....mennen

softens hands while you do dishes

milk's favorite cookie

Cinch-y, right? Let's check:

a whole line of baby products, in fact

yep, it's shampoo every time

delicious in their own way--but--what?

Branding can be kind of a big deal. I recently saw an online discussion working out the logo for a kid's birthday party. We even use the word "branding" to broaden the topic of  "brand names" to suggest that it all goes much deeper than just a designation. Companies spend fortunes to make sure we have a whole host of associations pop in our minds when we hear that jingle, or see that symbol.

These products weirded me out a little bit--because they went against my expectations. There are a million things that are different in Nicaragua than in the U.S. but they don't seem as unsettling as this almost familiar but different-ness. Because when I read that familiar brand name, I thought I knew what to expect.

It has really made me think about the brand names I wear--and how that shapes the way people perceive me. We all wear bunches of brand names--demographic ones, political ones, religious ones--but what if they are "read" differently by different people? And what assumptions am I making about others based on my expectations from that brand?

Perhaps it's so striking to me, because it's so close. If you asked me to describe these Oreo's I would say "a crunchy chocolate cookie with vanilla creme" and you would, too--but we'd be visualizing two different things.

Maybe it's that same way with the cultural brands we wear. It may be close--but  it also may bring up very different perceptions for each of us when we hear Christian, father, democrat, gringo, conservative, sister, senior, evangelical, middle-class, pastor, missionary...you get where I'm going.

Each day in the shower as I use my Palmolive shampoo, I am reminded that I need to "look inside the bottle" with people and not just read the brands. They may not mean what I think.

Health Check

Have you heard this expression: "I didn't realize how sick I was, until I got well."

It's easy to pay attention to pain. Sometimes it grows slowly over time until it demands your attention--sometimes it arrives all at once. But it rarely leaves all at once. It's often pretty hard to pinpoint the exact moment it was relieved.

I'm thinking about pain relief today. In my physical body--I have a newly arrived, annoying little pain. Every time I move I am reminded of it. I have thought "Ow!" about 486 times today. But yesterday, I did not once think, "Hey my shoulder feels fine." And when this pain passes--I may not even notice it is gone. If I do--I bet I won't notice its absence 486 times! But today I did notice the absence of one particular pain. Today I realized that particular heartache has been gone for a while--and I barely even recognized its absence until now.

Cleaning and organizing I ran across a collection of songs and put it on to play. As music has a way of doing, it took me back to a very specific time in my life--when those songs seemed to be the very cry of my spirit: "...be still my soul...I will walk through the fire...His eye is on the sparrow..."

Those songs played today, and I listened--and sang along--and noticed that they were lovely. Today they were just songs. There was a time when those melodies overwhelmed me with tears and a tightness in my chest and guts that was the physical part of the bleeding in my spirit. As the songs played and drew my memory back to that time--I was aware how different they sound to me now. The songs aren't different--but now that part of me that was so broken is well.

Scarred? Absolutely. But no longer bleeding.

When that pain was fresh it was constantly on my mind, and I was constantly begging in prayer for relief. That relief was granted. I noticed. I was grateful. I said some thank you's. But I am about 465 "thank-you's" behind. I guess I didn't really realize how sick I was until I got well.

It gave me hope for these newer aches and pains in my spirit. These too might pass. One day I might wake up and realize these don't hurt anymore either.

Psalm 30: 1-3

I will exalt you, Lord,
    for you lifted me out of the depths
    and did not let my enemies gloat over me.
² Lord my God, I called to you for help,
    and you healed me.
³ You, Lord, brought me up from the realm of the dead;
    you spared me from going down to the pit.

Sweet Hour of Prayer

Ok--I confess, I am not the biggest fan of that song. But I am a big fan of prayer. I bet you are too. And I bet both of us would say we could do with some more of it than we've currently got in our lives. 

The church here in Jinotega has a a beautiful tradition. They meet on Sundays for bible study and worship, they meet on Tuesday nights for bible study, ladies and youth groups meet Saturdays for special studies, but on Thursdays they meet for prayer. 

And it's really for prayer. It's not fancy, it's not cool, it's not ceremonious--it's just a body of believers spending 45 minutes to an hour praying together for all the things we can think of. Here's how it typically goes: 

sing a couple of songs while the stragglers arrive

someone reads a scripture--often from Psalms and makes a few comments to get us centered

the "MC" will call on a man to come lead a prayer and give him a topic: this church, the work of the mission, the women at Casa Materna, the youth, our country, the sick and those who are struggling, our sick and struggling that we know by name, special projects, thanksgiving, thanksgiving, thanksgiving.

Every man always begins his topic prayer with thankfulness. Habit? perhaps. Right? yes. 

When the "gringo men" are in town, their prayers often begin in Spanish and end in English. I can't help but notice that the part these guys are most proficient with in Spanish is the thankful part of their prayer. But Spanish or English--everyone prays--the language is so insignificant. When we are really pouring our hearts out to our Father the words are such an encumbrance. 

I have had this conversation many many times with various North Americans who come here: "Can you believe all the things Mision Para Cristo is doing/has accomplished? It's so clear that it is God at work, since surely no humans  could make all this happen!"

And so true! 

But do not imagine that this habit of gratitude is insignificant. Or that this town's tradition of prayer, and the amazing blessings God has poured out on this place are unrelated! 

^{Ephesians 6:18} And pray in the Spirit at all times. Pray with all kinds of prayers, and ask for everything you need. To do this you must always be ready. Never give up. Always pray for all of God’s people.

My Daddy always told me to look at a verse in some kind of context. Do you see what comes right before? (link back and read, it's not cheating.) That whole "armor of God" stuff. Sure, I've read that before. I've spent summers with kids talking about that armor piece by piece--complete with cardboard cut-outs. But I stopped at the 'sword of the spirit' in vs. 17. 

Oops. Because do you see how vs. 18 begins? "AND pray in the spirit..."  Go look again at how this "armor of God" stuff begins:

^{Ephesians 6:9} Last of all, I say this. Be strong in the Lord and use the strength he gives.

How can I read all about how to use the strength of God, and stop before I get to the part about prayer?

How 'bout you? Are you like me? Are you a big fan of prayer, but not well practiced with having enough of it in you life?

Sweet hour of prayer! sweet hour of prayer!
That calls me from a world of care,
And bids me at my Father’s throne
Make all my wants and wishes known.
In seasons of distress and grief,
My soul has often found relief,
And oft escaped the tempter’s snare,

By thy return, sweet hour of prayer!

~William Walford 

Jamaica Jam

You drink jamaica, right? Seriously? You don't? You really should try it--it's like Kool-aid for grown-ups.  If you haven't, next time you're in a Mexican restaurant order some--they've got it. (be sure to ask for "huh-my-kuh" not "juh-may-kuh" as most restaurants are not equiped to send you off on a Caribbean vacation.) Or check your grocery store, they've got it too. Maybe you know it by another name--they drink this stuff all over the world.  more about jamaica

Having not only made and consumed jamaica many times, and read lots of information like that linked above--I thought I knew about all there was to know about jamaica. Then I went walking in the market and saw this weird stuff for sale--I didn't even recognize it in it's fresh form!

So when the lady told me what it was, I immediately bought a sack full and trotted home to see if it tasted different than the dried form. It was great!

Then I decided to try to make something else. I read here about quesadillias made from them. And that was interesting, but I decided to try and make some jelly.

break the sepals apart

each one is thick and fleshy--who knew?

put them on to boil

Now in a normal world, I would have taken the juice, added some sugar and "sure-jell" pectin and been done in about two shakes. Of course, there's  no pectin here. So I strained out and ground the petals, which seemed pretty acidic tasting, along with some lime peelings and boiled them down until I had a juice which I hoped contained enough pectin for the jam to set up.

And it actually worked! When I saw those first few globs of gelling fruit on the spoon I did a dance you may have previously seen in the movie Castaway after he gets a fire going. 

Then it was just time to bake some fresh bread worthy of this fine jam.

yum!

And yes, for those of you who may be speculating on why the sudden extensive commentary on my lunches--it is because Jonathan (and most of the other Mission Men) are away on the river. You know, it is amazing how much quicker all the cleaning tasks go when there are no muddy boots stomping around the place.

Please keep our river travelers in your prayers--it's been raining buckets and every drop that rolls off our roof has to roll down to that river. They've got a long road back.

Jocote

Today's market fruit is jocote. For the first few months I was here, there were none to be found--and I had been looking forward to trying them, since Jonathan was practically obsessed with them when he first came. Well, they're back. And they're pretty tasty!

The ones we are eating now are quite different from the ones Jonathan first encountered. Evidently there are like 5 dozen varieties that break into two big categories: red or yellow. Red are available in the dry season and yellow in the wet season. But all types are also eaten when sour green either with salt, or pickled. (ick--and no, actually I haven't tried it. But vinegar is of the devil, so I can't foresee revising my opinion.)

this sack cost 10 Cordoba, which is around 40 cents

Jonathan swears the red ones, when ripe, taste just like plums. To me these yellow ones were kind of plum-y and kind of apricot-y. With a custard-y, vaguely grainy texture. There's a big pit in the center so watch out! Much like mamones you just kind of chew on 'em till all the good stuff is gone. But with jocote you can eat the skin.

that's the pit there at the bottom

Pretty good stuff: jocotes!

Maracuya--my new passion

So walking through the market, I found a fruit I had heard of, but hadn't yet tried: Maracuya.

Maracuya is also known as passion-fruit, but I didn't recognize it because a) what I thought passion fruit was, is actually dragon fruit, and b) the ones here in Nicaragua are yellow instead of purple.

not my picture. link here to read more

So I bought a sack full of them and took them home to try them out. Now I am in love!

8 of these cost 15 Cordoba which is about  65 cents

When you bust them open they are full of a delicious, tangy goo. Kind of like a pomegranate, but stickier. At this point, just grab a spoon-full or hand-full of seeds, or kind of squeeze/pour the contents into your mouth.

Yes. You can eat the seeds.

It's very tangy, a little bit peachy, extremely fragrant, and a little bit like slurping down a wad of tadpoles--but in a good way.

Eating it fresh is great, but it's even better when you turn it into callala, which is the name for the drink made of maracuya. You can cook the flesh, or use it raw. But don't ask the ladies who work around here which is best unless you want things to break out in a debate that I think insults somebody's grandmother. Either way--I think they're both delicious.


Smoosh all the fruit goo into a container and cook it (or don't) for about 5 minutes.

nifty how it comes out so clean, huh?

Strain the seeds out. Or if you have a blender, just go to town and crunch them up in the juice, they add to the tangy flavor.

Then add some sugar (maybe 2/3 of a cup) and plenty of water--until it is about the consistency of orange juice, and pour yourself a big glass! (for these 6 maracuya I made about 3 quarts of callala)

Delicious! But the best part of all is how the whole house smells. It's just plain tropical. Maracuya: my new passionately-loved Nicaraguan fruit.