If Shaving Cream Tasted Better…

I am a protester. I suppose that technically makes me a protestant, but I’m pretty sure I was one of those before now.

This is the face of a protester.

I recently had a course in local economics, sponsored by the country of Nicaragua, and hosted by Misión Para Cristo. Let me begin with a little background to the person you see on the left. There have been some great protests in the history of the world. This is not one of them. There have been many violent protests. This is not one of them. There have been some long-lasting, highly impact-full,  world changing protests in the past. This is not one of them. There have been protests led by inspired, inspiring, inspirational leaders. I am not one of them.

On 25 March 1965, Martin Luther King, Jr led thousands of non-violent demonstrators to the steps of the capitol in Montgomery, Alabama. King told the assembled mass: ‘‘There never was a moment in American history more honorable and more inspiring than the pilgrimage of clergymen and laymen of every race and faith pouring into Selma to face danger at the side of its embattled Negroes."

I submit, in light of my own non-violent protest, this paraphrase: “Never has a moment in Nicaraguan history existed in which no one was honored less, or less inspired than by the efforts of one missionary who refused to shave during his vacation.” It all began as I was contemplating how incredibly low-priced everything is here.

For example: Dinner for two, at  newly opened Olivo Restaurant here in Jinotega, comprised of filet mignon, all-you-can-eat salad, potatoes, fresh veggie medley, a soft drink and [are you ready for this? OF COURSE NOT! One cannot prepare for this!] fried cheese cake. It is every bit as rich and wonderful as it sounds, if not better. Total cost: $8.00. Remember that is for two people. One slice of cheesecake at Saltgrass Steak House in the US costs $8.

Fried Cheesecake – to die for (or apparently from, if you are not careful.

More details on death by cheesecake in a moment.)

Example #2. Visiting the big city, in this case Managua, as Sheila and I did last weekend, we took a few minutes to become mall rats en route to a meeting at the US Embassy. As part of our journey we went to the food court of this very modern mall and Sheila went for the Pizza Hut while I headed to Burger King. In our Jinotega home hamburgers (and just about any edible beef) are number one on my Food-I-Miss-The-Most list. I was in hamburger bliss as I made my way through the double with cheese. Total cost of my lunch $6.00 – and I would have paid more!

The royal family of burgers can keep their cardboard crowns. Gimme the burger!

Example #3: In a land that lives day-to-day, and in an area as close to the open market as we are, fresh fruits and vegetables abound. Some are common to us like carrots and potatoes, while others are more foreign like jocotes and malanga. Bananas are in season now and, unlike my mother country, when you buy a bunch you are not choosing the pre-divided bunch of 4-8 your neighborhood grocer hand selected for you. Rather, buying a bunch of bananas is really a bunch. Meaning, whatever that tree from which they were cut produced and was harvested is how it is sold. They are still green so they will last longer. They are fresh and tasty. How much for atypical bunch like in the photo below? $1.22, based on the current rounded exchange rate.

That's not a bunch.

That's a bunch. Each of these bunches is roughly the same size as the fire hydrant in the back ground.

There are many other examples of great value here such as the triple-dip sundae that costs $1.42 at Eskimo Ice Cream, or the fact that we fixed a very healthy soup for about 300 people for $1.77. The soup mix was free and the only cost was seasoning and vegetables, but c’mon, man. At $2 per bag of soup that’s still only about a nickel per person. My hair cut costs only $2.85 (and comes in a choice of two styles: less or none.) My shoe shine only costs 50 cents.

Final Example: My newly assigned cholesterol and blood pressure medicines (refer to fried cheesecake above) for one month are only $9 total.

Stay calm, get a little exercise, take all this and everything will be fine. Oh yeah, don’t eat anything but grilled chicken and raw fruits and vegetables. Fried cheesecake: NOT on my new list of foods.

Sheila's kitchen talents keep me happily fed.

So maybe you are thinking that this post started out as a complaint of some sort worthy of a protest. Well, you are right. Protests can be a catalyst for change. Or they can just be silly. Just as Jason Bateman & Matt Damon refusing to use a toilet in protest of the lack of access to clean water in the world, or Costa Ricans protesting against the USA because it snowed at a soccer game, or the countless hunger strikers who paved the way by saving money and not eating, I am protesting in a way that means absolutely nothing to anyone else.

Here's what happened. Of the three local grocery stores here, I entered the one that most usually carries American-made brands. With plenty of money I set out to buy the two or three items I needed – or so I thought. I left with only one item – shaving cream. You see, I had used all of my fancy US imported Edge Gel and decided I could not shave cream-less. I placed the can of Gillette and my other two items, along with the 200 Córdoba bill ($8.16 USD at the time), only to find out I did not have enough money. I looked at the register and saw that I had only enough for the shaving cream (which at the time of this purchase was becoming VERY necessary.) 197 Córdobas ($8.04 USD) was the cost. I took my very precious shaving cream and cupped it close to my straining heart so that no ill could come to this very valuable possession.

The Unholy Grail of Shaving Cream

Upon arriving home I carefully placed the shiny, silvery can in a place of high honor – a place reserved for chili powder and cilantro seasoning as neither is available here.

Checking later I found that even the cheapo, non-gel shaving cream goes for just over $6. Is it the cost of printing shaving cream labels in Spanish that raises the price, or some secret embargo to protect us from a foam-based crime syndicate? I know not!

And so I protest. What do I expect the world to learn from my scrubby salt-and-pepper colored facial hair? Nothing. I expect some of those with whom I spend a great deal of time will suspect that I am older than they think, but really, I expect nothing. But c'mon, Man! Eight Bucks?!? I could have had steak and fried cheesecake. FRIED CHEESECAKE! Obviously, if shaving cream tasted better I would not have to stage this protest that only means something to me. But since it doesn't or at least I am not willing to “acquire a taste” for it I will continue to protest until this blasted itchy beard gets on my nerves to the point that I shave once again. That time could be any second now.

One simple message to Gillette, Edge and all you other shaving cream producers: Tell Nicaragua to sell it cheaper, or develop a better tasting one, preferably one that is low in fat and cholesterol.

Fruit of the day: oranges?

OK. So something that I have noticed here in Jinotega is that specific names for every single thing are not that important. There are several dozen types of mangoes around here--but they are all just called "mango". Imagine the big grocery store in your town--now replace all those apple varieties with different mango varieties. But make sure all the signs just say "mango". Soft, yellow and the size of a plum--purple and orange and as big as a cantaloupe--sweet and soft, sour and firm--yellow, green, purple, orange, peach. Just mango.

It's also that way with oranges. Oranges grow all around down here. Some are ripe when still green, some are yellow and splotchy, some are--well, orange. But I mean really, really, I'm-going-to-a-large-university-in-Texas-orange.  Big  and full of seeds and juice, or small meaty mandarins, and some--well, some aren't really oranges at all. But in the market, lots of things are called "naranjas" (oranges).

the grandmother of a sister at church brings these in from the mountains for us sometimes

My last trip to the market I encountered some truly ugly, weird looking citrus. I asked the guy what they were called, and he said "beer oranges". Another person I asked said they were "lime oranges". 

but seriously, it was really bumpy

a large central hole and very yellow flesh

I took a bite and my face imploded. It was more sour than a lemon--and, just different somehow. In the same way that grapefruit and lime taste different from oranges or lemons but all have something in common--this was like some lemony, orange-y, cousin. After eating just one segment, I decided to juice them. Although they seemed very dry compared to the oranges we usually have around here, just two fruits produced almost a pint of juice. 

I hear you yawning. This is your exciting tropical fruit of the day? Oranges? But let me show you another fruit called "naranjas".

ok-technically this is called "naranjita" which is "little orange" even though it is much bigger than a mandarin orange

The skin is thin and smooth like a tomato, and the fruit feels heavy and juicy. Inside it is full of tiny seeds and a creamy beige pulp, surrounded by a fruit meat that is pear-like in texture.

My guess based on the best help google image search could provide is that it must be some type of persimmon. But big, and the flavor was not astringent as the persimmons were described to be. It was mild. Maybe like a slightly bitter raw potato. Only sweeter. I confess, I did not finish it. It went straight to the kids outside, who ate it all spitting out some of the seedier parts.

So---you say tomato, I say potato: and everything around here is evidently just called orange.

Fruit of the day: caimito

Today's fruit is one I haven't seen in the market before. It's uncommon enough that the young kids I showed it to didn't know its name. Caimito is dark purple, round, smooth and roughly the size of a lunchbox orange.

The market lady sold me 3 for 5 cordobas. (around 20 cents) With such a low price, I figured they must be close to inedible--but they are surprisingly tasty. They had a very faint slightly unpleasant over-ripe smell. But that also could've just been the company I was in when I was purchasing them.

Cut in half, you can see a dark purple pulp that slowly fades to white around large black seeds. The seeds form a star pattern, much like an apple. The more purple the flesh, the firmer it is. 

The vendor warned me not to eat the skin or the seeds, so I scooped out the custardy, pulpy center for a bite. The flavor was mild and sweet. Not a hint of acidity. A tiny bit of a peachy flavor. Imagine baby  cereal prepared with fruit juice as the liquid. 

After a taste, I thought it might make a great fruit drink mixed with pineapple. The dark purple part was scoopable like the center and so pretty--so I threw the flesh into a pot of boiling water with a couple of hunks of pineapple. 

A helpful tip: you might want to go ahead and do your internet research on weird fruits before you try any experimental recipes. As I found out here that purple part, like the skin, while inedible is a great source of natural latex. 

Another helpful tip: removing latex from a pan is best accomplished with lots and lots of patient peeling. 

Fruit of the day: jocotes

With the mission staff on vacation, I have time to wander the market looking for new treats to try. I'll share my fruity findings for the next few days.

I thought I'd start with an important one: jocotes

There are several varieties available at different times of the year. Some have a tougher, bumpier skin. some ripen yellow instead of red. But these are the best. They are a type of wild plum. And when red, ripe, and soft are sweet like a plum. They have a big gigantic pit, so you need to eat a bowlful. That's no problem, as there are mountains of them lining the streets. A bag of around 50 sell for 20 cordobas. (less than a dollar).

These are probably Jonathan's favorite Nicaraguan treat. He likes them dead red ripe. People here also like to eat the green ones which are sour. Several ladies I met today in the market were buying huge quantities to make a dish called "cuznaca" (which I have not tried) that, if my listening skills were accurate, involves boiling and baking the jocotes along with rice, cinnamon, sugar, and onions. (yea, I know. I asked like 3 times, they totally said onions.)

they're tiny

but packed with juicy flavor

and mostly full of pit

ch-ch-changes

No one would argue: Change is hard. Uncomfortable. Confusing. Messy.

There have been big changes in our corner of Jinotega in the last couple of years. The first time I visited the mission, it sat across from a busy, crowded bus station. Behind that were rows of plank shacks with open sewers and dirt floors which served as the city's market.

bus station as seen from mission window

By the time we moved here, the new rebuilt market had opened complete with electricity, cinder-block buildings, concrete paths, and higher rent. This higher rent drove many vendors onto sidewalks, or any other wide spot in the road. These salesman and their families came to be a daily part of mission life.

street in front of the mission

view from the front door--August

 As the last group of the summer was pulling away last year, workmen begin arriving on the street in front of the mission pulling up the hexagonal paving stones  and stacking them in four foot high walls blocking the road in what could only mean long hoped for road repairs. With the street now impassable, the bus station and it's associated hawkers and air horns--a very prominent feature of mission life, particularly at 5 a.m.--moved to the next block. City officials held meetings in the street explaining that the makeshift stalls would have to go. The frenzied movement and riot of colorful baskets was slowly exchanged for permanent store fronts.

view from the front door--October

view from front door--December

view from front door today

It wasn't long before the workmen faded away. Or so it seemed to me. Months passed without much activity. Periodically a grader might come scrape things down. Or guys with shovels would arrive spreading loads of dirt, sand, or rocks onto the road bed only to disappear again for several months. As an observer it seemed that all the progress they made was being washed away in the rain.

Two things were happening through all those long months. The road was being worked on. The subsequent traffic was slowly packing that rock and sand down bit by bit and the road bed was steadily rising to meet that foot high curb. Every motorcycle, horse-cart, and truck was part of leveling and packing the spots that would need it most.

Secondly, I was learning to hunger for change. To appreciate what was gone and anticipate what was coming. Each time workmen arrived, crowds would gather and we'd all chatter excitedly: "Do you think they'll pave it?" "Will the buses come back?" We bemoaned the dust and blessed the silence. Some days we lamented the silence and reminisced about how exciting it was when the street was busy and full.

I can't help but see a parallel to times God has pulled the paving stones of my life up. Sometimes exciting, sometimes scary--always messy, confusing and uncomfortable.

^{Philippians 1:6} being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.

I don't how long God's reconstruction projects in my life will take. I don't know what they will look like when He is finished. But I am learning to hunger for change. He knows what He is doing--and one glorious day He will complete all the work that leaves me so messy and uncomfortable.

Today I am reminded of that hope.
Today they paved the street.

Learning to listen

As the spring break groups have come through, I have been introduced to, and introduced myself to around 50 people. At some point as I explain my role here, someone will ask some version of: "So, are you a Spanish speaker?"

And I've realized that in many ways I am a Spanish speaker. Most of the time (with the patience of those I'm talking to) I can sift through the words I know to get my point across.

What I am not, is a Spanish listener.

There are so many times during each day where I feel my mind just give up, turn off, and stare blankly as I repeat the unfamiliar words with a quizzical expression.

I can say many more things than I can listen to.  But isn't that kind of the case for all of us? Isn't it often easier to put our energy into figuring out what we want to say than into figuring out what is being said to us? Aren't there times in difficult conversations with a co-worker, spouse, or friend when you feel your mind give up, turn off, and stare blankly--realizing you don't really "get" where the other person is coming from?

I shouldn't be surprised. Think about how many times Jesus advised the crowds to listen.
find the answer here. Notice that He's saying, "Listen up" more than just about anything else!

Living in another language has certainly made me aware of how grateful I am for the careful, generous listening of those around me. And makes me hungry to learn to listen.

James 1:19

The Glamor and Glory of Missionary Life

     Over the course of the last few weeks it has become apparent why God sent me here. I think he made it perfectly clear that here and now – or here and just over a year ago, Jinotega, Nicaragua was part of His plan for Sheila and me. The life of an American missionary in Nicaragua is one of glamour and glory. We get to visit new and exciting places, experience the reality of a vastly different culture, and feel the respect of strangers who know that you, as an American, have all the money to fix all of their problems.

     Oh, if only that was true, or even if it was possible! The fact of the matter is that here at Misión Para Cristo, every step we take to serve God, through every project we attack, is resource driven. The glamorous life comes in the form of deep, solemn eyes of children in poverty who look to you with hope and for help. 

The glamorous life...

...of a missionary...

...can often only be found in the hopeful eyes of a person in need.

     It comes in mammoth requests. And when resources arrive to provide food, or shelter, or medicine, or education it indicates that God is in control.. With undeniable, frequently surprising God-acts, He keeps us humble. In the surroundings of small-yet-inner-city filth, nestled in the heart of what very well may be His most beautiful natural creation: rain-forest jungles and the smiles of the very poor – people. These are people who want more than anything else, the attention of someone, anyone – even by glamorizing a Gringo who is powerless by himself to provide much more than the smile I return. So, it is against this back drop that I humbly submit how God proves to us every day that He is a God of action, grace, mercy and intervention:

• In three trips to Nicaragua’s capital city of Managua I have been stopped by the Policia Nacional. The first two times it was for driving in the wrong lane. “You can’t drive that van in the inside lane.” I was told by the officer. After being advised by my Nicaraguan passenger that if I offered to pay the fine on the spot with an American $10 bill the officer would probably be forgiving. I did so, and we went on our way.  The second time I was stopped in Managua was for driving in the outside lane. You can’t drive that van in the outside lane,” advised the officer. (Editorial aside: Our transportation director says when an officer sees a gringo with out of state plates they think we are an easy ten bucks. Seems he is right.) The third instance – and by this time anytime I see a cop I pray, “Dear God, please let me go by without being waived to the side of the road,” carefully maintaining the proper speed in the center lane. Nope: He waives me over to the side. Grrrrr! Can’t catch a traffic cop break! The following conversation ensues as I hand over my identification and vehicle documents:

          -Cop: Are you a missionary?
                      -Me: Yes.

          -Cop: Are you a pastor?

          -Me: Well, yes.

          -Cop: For three years my back has hurt and I take medicine but it doesn't help. Can you pray for me?

          -Me: ‘Scuse me? (I really only thought that. I actually said, “Absolutely!)

          -Cop: Do you want to pray now or wait until you get to the church?

                    -Me: We can pray now if you’d like.

          So with that I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder and prayed for him to be relieved of his pain. By the way, I also thanked God for those who serve their country as police officer – and I wasn't even being sarcastic.

• Just before Christmas a family, made up of both parents and a little girl, came to the mission asking for help getting to Managua so the four-year-old could have eye surgery. Seems she was going blind in both eyes and needed to have cataract and glaucoma surgery – at FOUR YEARS OLD! I explained the procedure for getting medical assistance: Provide a letter with a formal request, present medical documents verifying the need, and wait for our medical staff to make a recommendation to Benny, our executive director, who will see if funds are available. I also noted that the decision makers were all on vacation and that they would have to wait until they returned at the first of the year for answers to their needs. I didn’t see the family again. Fast forward to late last week: I was at one of our country school buildings seeing if it was ready for students to return form the vacation break. A man approached the truck as we were preparing to leave the site. Often those who live out in the countryside and mountains around Jinotega ask for rides into town – a practice forbidden by the mission. As he approached I assumed he needed a ride. He looked familiar but I had no reason to believe I knew him. “I just wanted to say ‘Thank you.’ My daughter was almost blind but you helped us get her to the doctor for surgery and now she sees better.” “When you have time, please stop by the mission so I can see her again,” I asked. As promised, two of the biggest, most beautiful eyes visited my office, Doning sunglasses and a hat, mom, who is now seeking assistance for the next operation, was a gracious and grateful as her father had been.

Four-years-old, one eye surgery down, one to go 

·        

• The final instance (for this report – so many others come to mind as I write) has to do with a young couple who were struggling spiritually. [Let me preface this by saying that my Spanish speaking abilities have improved by leaps and bounds, but remain between the ‘horrible’ and ‘not-quite-good-enough-to-be-marginal’ on the Conversational Spanish Scale, which is a ranking system I just now made up.] They stopped me after our Thursday night prayer time at the church building with some questions. I told them I would be happy to visit with them but would need a translator since my Spanish was not good. They said they would rather just try it without outside assistance. This is a particularly frightening situation for me to be in, especially in matters of the soul. We sat down and visited for about 30 minutes. With relatively few word struggles, we had a very nice, effective, understood conversation. As I returned to the mission for the evening and told Sheila of how surprised I was that the conversation went so well she reminded me that God puts us where He wants us and uses us how He sees fit, providing us with the skills needed, when they are needed.

     Compared to our nice home in Central Texas, with space, a yard, our friends, family and dogs, we are in a challenging place. But God shows us His glory, possibly in ways that we would not see if we were surrounded by all of our creature comforts and familiar surroundings. This missionary life is glorious. And the glory all goes to God. Everyday, beginning to end we are afforded the opportunity to catch a glimpse of His glory in the most unexpected ways.

Life is glorious!

    The words of the song, “Show Me Your Glory” have always sung specifically to me. It was popularized by contemporary Christian group Third Day:

I caught a glimpse of Your splendor

In the corner of my eye

The most beautiful thing I've ever seen

And it was like a flash of lightning

Reflected off the sky

And I know I'll never be the same

Show me Your glory

Send down Your presence

I want to see Your face

Show me Your glory

Majesty shines about You

I can't go on without You, Lord

When I climb down the mountain

And get back to my life

I won't settle for ordinary things

I'm gonna follow You forever

And for all of my days

I won't rest 'til I see You again

Show me Your glory

Show me Your glory

I can't live without You

You can watch the concert version of the song here.