Learnings from Nicaragua

I’m haunted by the innocent joy of the people there. The joy of kids, who by our standards have nothing. Many of whom eat one meal a day, five days a week. I am haunted by the kindness of the adults whose homes, (we Americans would call it personal space), are being invaded by total strangers. But they aren’t put off or annoyed, but rather joyous and celebratory in our very presence. I was welcomed into my friend David’s home in a manner that has never happened to me in my life. As he took my hand and led me with excitement to meet his mother and sister, I expected a formal hello between adults. But that is not what I got. She hugged me and kissed my cheek. She invited us to stay and sit and began to pull up the tattered plastic chairs she had to give us a seat, while they stood, for she had given us strangers all the seating accommodations she had. I was perplexed when David ran into the house while we were there to visit with him, but overjoyed when he returned with his newborn niece and handed her to me. Something that must have been considered one of their most precious belongings, a newborn child, and he just wanted to share her with me. I was ruined. I am ruined. As I tried to tell my sister of this experience, I just wanted to figure out how they could be so different there in the way that they extend grace and unconditional love. She reminded me that maybe it wasn’t just about how different they are there, but also how different I was there. I was struck. The people of Puchacaupe gave me a bigger gift than I could ever give them. Because they gave me a glimpse of the me that Jesus sees. As I was seeing Christ in them, I believe that they were seeing Him in me. Oh what a gift.