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.  

Day 1: Anticipation & Arrival

On the Friday night our team was to depart for Managua, I sat on the floor of my bedroom surrounded by the contents of my packing list. I had hoped to feel just a little more prepared at this point. I had planned to brush up on my Spanish and eat so much garlic that the mosquitos wouldn’t want to touch me. But my life continued to move at 80 miles per hour, and here I was with a head full of broken Spanish and skin begging to be bitten. So instead I crossed the items off my list, feeling a small sense of comfort with every line I drew. Sunscreen, journal, mosquito repellant…check, check, check. What more could a girl need in Central America?

At the airport, our team 20-somethings gathered to pray and prepare for a long night of sleepless red-eye flights. I’m sure our families would be comforted to know that our team leader, Alex, was not even old enough to qualify for the auto insurance discount that signifies the transition from reckless youth to responsible adult. Two flights, one layover, and several passport checks later, we were in Managua. Alex told us to enjoy the last air conditioning we would feel for eight days, and we rolled our suitcases out the double doors of the Managua airport into the thick, tropic heat.

Our translator, Mario, met us outside and we hopped aboard a bus to make the hour drive to the villa. That first bus ride was easily a highlight of my trip. As we flew through the streets of Managua, I became instantly fascinated by the culture. Here, road rules were simply suggestions and people honked their horns liberally. I watched out the window as we passed daring Nicaraguans walking between cars, selling cashews stacked on their heads, and making money from spontaneous, mid-traffic windshield washing.

Finally arriving at the villa, we passed through the gates into a slice of paradise that sharply contrasted with the chaotic streets of Managua. Plants of all species lived among the 24 girls and many workers of the villa, and we were stunned by the sense of peace this escape exuded.  Rubbing the fatigue from our faces, we claimed bunk beds in the rooms reserved for mission teams and prepared to meet the girls.

Villa Esperanza, 2012

We spread out among plastic tables to leave space for the girls to sit next to us and endure our terrible attempts at Spanish.  At this point, I’m sure they are accustomed to awkward conversation and have mastered the art of humoring outsiders. Every one of us had a chance to hold the microphone and share our names and ages. The girls introduced themselves in their best English, and we tried our hands at recalling first year Spanish class. “Buenos noches. Me llamo Karlee. Tengo venticuatro anos.” If that doesn’t impress them, I don’t know what will.

After introductions, we thought surely it was time to pass out, but someone hit the music and we commenced a sweaty dance party. Turns out, these nighttime dance parties would happen every single night before bed. The girls had choreographed dances for just about every song, and every one of their fluid movements made me feel more like a fish out of water. However, it was great fun not to take ourselves too seriously, and I was relieved to find that the Funky Chicken is a Villa Esperanza favorite. Who can’t do the Funky Chicken? When it was finally time for bed, even the girls who were too shy to speak to us gave us hugs and headed to their quarters at the back of the property. They wake up at 5:30 every morning to do chores before school, so thank goodness 8:30 p.m. was when we called it a night.

First night of sleep and no mosquito bites! However, I did wake up several times to the sound of mangoes hitting the tin roof, which sound like explosions. We take our building materials for granted, my friends. 

Introduction: The Call to Villa Esperanza

On June 29^th, 2012, I embarked on an adventure to Nicaragua to see what God has been up to in Managua, to offer my heart and my hands to serve, and let the Lord change me through my experience. More specifically, our mission was to an amazing place called Villa Esperanza, or “Village of Hope,” which serves as a safe haven for young women who come from unimaginable poverty. I’d like to say THANK YOU!! to everyone who supported my trip, whether financially or with prayer. Below is an excerpt from the support letter I sent out, which some of you have read. It seems fitting to preface the recounting of my experience with my thoughts before the journey, and a little bit of history.

“Someone wise said that love is a verb, not a noun. It isn’t simply how we feel, but how we treat people.  True love is caring so much for the people around us that we put their needs before our own. As I apply this principle to my life, serving others is all that makes sense. The church that I’m part of, called Solid Rock, is huge about mission—both in our own communities and abroad.  This gives us all the amazing opportunity to experience and serve the needs of communities around the world.  One of the young leaders in my church announced an upcoming mission trip to Nicaragua and it instantly struck a chord in my heart. I long to serve and to join in the work God is doing outside my American bubble. I prayed about it and decided this would be my first international mission trip!

Managua is the most highly populated city in Nicaragua and home to a 70-acre garbage dump where up to 2,000 people work gathering garbage to sell in order to make a couple dollars per day.  About half of these workers are children 18 years old and younger, and many of the girls exchange sex for money.  Some even trade their bodies for first access to the garbage.  As devastating as this reality is, a safe-house called Villa Esperanza has provided hope for many of the girls.  The villa rescues these girls from a life of poverty, prostitution, and drugs by providing a safe place for them to live, eat healthy meals, and get an education. If you would like to know more, I encourage you to watch this short video: 

I will be going with a group of 16 people from my church who feel called to serve these girls and see what God is doing in a place far from our comfort zone.  I’m a little anxious, but I’m mostly excited because I can’t wait to meet these girls, love them by serving them, and gain a much-needed dose of perspective. I don’t know how large of an impact I can make during a one-week trip to Managua, but I do believe that this experience and these girls will make an immeasurable impact on me.  It will change the way I live on mission in my own community and further open my eyes to the need all around us.”


I learned much more about the villa when I was there, and it turns out the story of how it came to be is even more amazing that I imagined. Before Villa Esperanza existed, a woman named Gloria had been getting to know some of the people that worked at La Chureca, the massive garbage dump that has been the livelihood of many Nicaraguan families. One day a missionary with a camcorder interviewed Gloria and asked her what she wanted for these families, if there were no limits. She answered that she would want a safe haven that would rescue girls from the dump. The missionary returned to the United States and showed the video to his church. A philanthropist agreed to match whatever the church raised that day. Well, in one day the church raised $86,000. Thank you Jesus!

In 2008, the Villa went into construction. A property that began as overgrown plants was transformed into a glorious villa with a kitchen and homes for the girls. Yes, 2008, when the economy was a total disaster. Not to mention, Nicaragua is something like the second poorest country in the Northern Hemisphere. Amazing things happen when we let God work in our hearts. Right now, the villa has three full homes, which each house eight girls and a house mom. A compassionate and inspirational man named Wilbur is the Director of the villa. He and the amazing Gloria, his wife, treat each of these young women like a daughter.