Day 2: The Desert

As soon as my eyes opened in the morning, my heart was already racing and ready for the first full day in Nicaragua. I hopped out of bed while my two roommates were still asleep and rejoiced at getting the first shower. The first very cold shower. However, the water temperature was the least of my worries. Our team was warned not to drink the water or even wet our toothbrush under the faucet. Every drop to touch our lips was to come from water jugs especially provided for visitors who would get sick from the local water. So I rinsed off with my lips tightly sealed, sure that so much as one drop would mean sudden death. Of course, this was extreme, but I would not go down on Day 2!

Feeling refreshed, and having survived the bathing ritual, I tiptoed out our door into abundant morning sunlight. Unaware that my phone had not accounted for the time difference and it was only 5:30 a.m., I savored the calm. The captivating songs of a medley of birds blended together in the warm air and awakened my senses. I walked along the main path through the middle of the villa and found the mangoes that had rolled off the tin roof the night before. Now lying on the ground as if they had partied too hard the night before, they were seeping juice and attracting eager flies.

Most of our team had also unknowingly awakened an hour too early. Scattered throughout the villa, we read God's word, journaled, and prepared for the day as best as we could before circling up for worship and discussion. There was something wonderfully different about singing our songs with just sixteen voices, an acoustic guitar, and the vibrant sounds of wildlife.

El Faro
This day began easy. We dressed in our Sunday best, piled into a bus along with the Villa Esperanza girls, and drove through Managua to El Faro, the church they attend every Sunday. The bus ride was our second chance to attempt Spanish with the girls. We told them they were pretty and asked them simple questions they had probably answered hundreds of times. But they graciously answered us anyway, and we nodded at the few words we understood. I sat next to Perla, the oldest girl at the villa. She was 19 and had a gentle and lively demeanor. We talked briefly about school and music. It was a little awkward, but that awkwardness was something I was willing to embrace. I was here for a reason and I would certainly do my best to connect. I desperately wanted to ask her something more meaningful, if only I had the vocabulary to understand her answers. Like, what do you think about? What's it like to live at the villa, and what was it like before? Perhaps I could have asked her these questions but I was afraid to feel stupid.

Our church in the Portland area is huge. Thousands of people shuffle in and out on the weekends. The music is loud enough to make your ears ring and people cluster around refreshment stations to pump french vanilla creamer into their coffee before the music set begins. Needless to say, El Faro was very different. We gathered into a humid space about the size of a living room. Cracking light green paint decorated the walls, and a couple fans hung from the ceiling to circulate the hot air above white plastic chairs.

The music began. A curvy woman with a strong voice led worship with passion until sweat dripped down her arms. She dabbed her forehead with a tissue and continued singing. Our team had no idea what she was saying but we clapped along with the singing Nicaraguans who moved joyfully to the music and raised their hands in the air. Finally, a melody we recognized began.

"Abre los ojos de mi corazón
abre los ojos de mi corazón
Yo quiero ver Te..."

Or, as we know it:

"Open the eyes of my heart, Lord
Open the eyes of my heart
I want to see You."


An international pastor was visiting. Ironically, he spoke Spanish to be translated to English by our Nicaraguan translator so that we could understand. Both of them, in a language that was not their native tongue, spoke about repentance. Why are we offended when urged to repent? Those who share God's will for us and encourage us to turn from our wickedness and selfish living desire for us to experience the fullness of God's joy. Jesus urges us to accept His grace, to live worthy of our calling, to thankfully accept His sacrifice for our sin and receive the gift of life. We will be considered holy and blameless even though we didn't earn it, simply by following Jesus, which means embarking on a new and infinitely better path.


It was beautiful and perplexing to watch these people praise. At first glance, my innately materialistic mind wondered what they gave thanks for. Of course I know that God's greatest blessing is not our homes, clothes, or even food, but actually His amazing grace, life itself, and the fact that He adopted us as His own children. Throughout the week, watching those "less fortunate" than us worship the Lord was a reminder of the joy that comes from being His children. The simple joy of knowing a Father whose perfect love is better than anything we will ever experience. He created us with longing hearts that only His love can satisfy completely. People from every corner of the world, from every income level and background, praise this same Jesus who is not North American, a Jesus who is not out to expand our wallets and closets, but to save our lives. 

The pastor also spoke about the desert. Many times in the Bible, we read accounts of God's people being taken to the desert, where they can experience God without the distractions. When God freed Israel from slavery in Egypt, they escaped to a desert where they could encounter Him and be sustained by Him alone. That history speaks of a literal desert, but God desires for us to meet Him in any desert--even a figurative one, where we get away from the chatter of the world, from cell phones, laptops, TVs, distractions. We realize in the desert that God is everywhere, always wishing to speak to us. We find freedom in the desert from the deafening shouts that God is not enough to sustain us. The reality is that He could take our lives in a moment, but He alone has given us life and even grace despite our rebellion. He does not desire to strike us down when we don't listen. He desires to meet us somewhere where we can listen and seek His amazing will for our lives. For now, Nicaragua was my figurative desert. And boy, was I listening. 

The Play Day

We returned home to the villa for a full day with the girls. We ate lunch. I had a hot dog eating contest with a young girl named Sochil. She beat me and in perfect, sassy English, said "Sorry...for you!" before walking away. We all played group games, engaged in a long and sweaty round of soccer, and learned how strong the Nicaraguan girls were. A small group of us decided to go on a walk outside the villa gates. We walked by run down homes, plenty of chickens, and wild dogs. Five young boys started following us and before we knew it we were all kicking around the soccer ball. A fantastic side of our male teammates came out as they laughed and played with the little boys and complimented their soccer skills, becoming entirely less awkward than they were around the teenage girls of the villa. We goofed around until it started to rain and we headed back, invigorated by our unexpected encounter and filled with excitement for the days to come and the relationships we would forge without words.  

Of course, there was more dancing when we got back. A beautiful girl named Maria taught me some dance steps. Only 16 years old, she was the first to reach out to me. Maria's dark brown eyes were sharp and inquisitive. I could tell she was incredibly smart just by watching her. She was sensitive to my awkwardness and humored me much longer than any of the other girls. God has answered my prayer that day to truly connect with one of the girls. We would become good friends.