Your Love

A couple nights ago I was lying in bed listening to a thunderstorm. I used to love thunderstorms. Still do! Listening to the sound of the rain beating against the roof of your house and watching bolts of lightning lighting up the night sky while curled up under a blanket. It feels safe. But this time was different. As I lay in bed I didn’t have the same secure feeling I did at home. There was something eerily dark about the cracks of thunder and flashes of light. I was curled up in bed; I was dry and safe, what was different? As I thought about this my mind immediately went to the kids that I’ve grown to love here. Maybe the thunderstorm was different this time because I was subconsciously aware of what it meant for some of those kids.

The rain hitting the roof isn’t a soft pitter-patter as it hits shingles, but is a harsh clapping as the rain hits the metal roof. The water pouring off the roof doesn’t run down drainpipes, but runs off the roof, floods the floor as it leaks under the sheet metal walls, and creates a muddy mess. The muffled thunder isn’t simply a reminder of your safe secure home, but a piercing crack that echoes throughout the open air and is followed by shrieking from your baby brother and the neighbor kids that share a wall with you. The lightening isn’t just a show to watch, but a reminder of the power of the storm that if it continues, could destroy your home. Thunderstorms don’t produce a safe secure feeling, but invoke fear as you huddle in a corner with your younger siblings praying for your own safety.

While this is likely not the exact experience of all the kids I’ve met here, it is certainly close for some. But more importantly, it touches on a greater truth that I’ve become more increasingly aware of. What we see as normal is determined by our culture and our surroundings and affects who we are as people.

Within my first week here I knew that there were some BIG differences between the lives these kids have and the one I grew up with. Don’t get me wrong, I knew there were significant differences, I wasn’t completely naïve. But there’s a difference between knowing there’s a difference and really seeing and experiencing it. Here are a couple examples of what I’m talking about.

A couple weeks ago I was at soccer practice. We were scrimmaging when gunshots started to fire nearby. This alone would be strange to anyone from my background, however having been here for two weeks already it wasn’t my first time hearing that. But what really hit me was that no one reacted. Not a flinch, not even a glance up. It’s simply background noise. It’s normal.

Within my first couple weeks here I’ve tried to have conversations with numerous kids at the soccer school. After some of the usual basic questions like what’s your name, how old are you, what’s your favorite color, I’ll usually start asking about family. I started to see a pattern. The conversation would more often than not go like this:

Me: Do you have any siblings?

Kid: Yeah I have 4 brothers.

Me: How old are they?

Kid: 5, 6, 9, and 13.

Me: Do you live with your parents?

Kid: I live with my mom. My dad is in the US.

Me: Oh! Where in the US?

Kid: I don’t know.

While this is sad and slightly shocking itself, what’s more shocking is the nonchalance with which it is said. It’s normal.

These kinds of experiences weren’t unexpected. I knew it was likely I would hear gunshots and I knew I’d run into kids who didn’t know where their fathers were. What was unexpected was the normalcy of it. To these kids these things are normal and it’s affected who they are and are becoming. I’m not going to argue whether that affect will be good or bad, that’s not the point. The point is it’s shaped who they are. And likewise, I was shaped by my surroundings as a kid, surroundings that were very different.

As I thought about this I began to wonder how I am ever supposed to be able to relate to these kids. Not only is there a language barrier, but I can’t even begin to understand what it’s like to experience the things they have. I began to question my ability to have an impact.

I recently heard a song that seemed to have an answer. Part of the song goes like this:

Your love
Your love
The only the thing that matters is Your love
Your love is all I have to give
Your love is enough to light up the darkness
It’s Your love
Your love
all I ever needed is Your love

(Your Love – Brandon Heath)

What I realized is, the only thing that matters is God’s love. I may not be able to relate, but thankfully relating isn’t a prerequisite to loving. God’s love has no language, no culture. What I’m realizing more and more is that His love is all I have to give these kids. And I’m learning to trust that His love is enough to light up the darkness by which they are surrounded.

To be known is to be loved.

Although I’ve adjusted well to life in El Salvador, there’s still a part of life here that’s not quite right. It wasn’t until tonight that I realized what piece was missing. I’ve gotten to know a good number of people here. There’s certainly no lack of relationships. I’ve gotten to know Elsa very well, her family decently well, the soccer coaches pretty well, relationships with the kids are growing, I’ve met many of Elsa’s friends, and I’ve found a good community in my bible study. It’s not that I don’t have people in my life here. It’s not that I don’t feel valued or accepted here. I know I’m cared for. So what is it? What’s lacking?

It hit me tonight that it’s not because of a lack of people in my life, but rather a lack of depth. People here don’t know me. This is largely do to the fact that it is difficult for me to express myself well in Spanish and partly due to the short time that I have been here. It takes time and effort for that to develop. It’s hard to leave a place you are known to go to a place where most people only know your name and maybe a few other facts about your life. My name is Nikki, I’m 23, from Wisconsin, have an older sister, and graduated last December. But what’s the big deal with being known? Isn’t it kind of selfish to want people to know me? To be “popular”? Maybe, but that’s not the kind of knowing I’m talking about. There’s a distinct difference between that kind of knowing and the way I was known in Madison. People here might know about me, but people in Madison truly knew me. To be known about is to be popular, maybe even famous. But to be known is to be loved.

To be known by someone means they know what you are thinking before you say it. You can communicate with just a glance of the eyes. You don’t have to tell them you want easy ice in your vanilla chai tea latte because they already know. They know how you’re feeling without asking because your face says it all. They can simply look at you and know that you need a hug. They know when to talk, and when to just sit in silence. And it’s through these things, through being known, that we feel most loved. It’s no wonder the people who love us the most are usually the ones who know us the best. It's what makes the love of a family so strong.

This is why we can be in the middle of a huge crowd and still feel alone. It’s why we can interact with people all day and yet be lonely. It’s why I can be in El Salvador, and have tons of great godly people in my life, and still feel lonely. This is the missing piece to life in El Salvador. The people who know me best are over 2,000 miles away. They may want to send me encouragement but they won’t know I need it unless I say it. And even then they can send me an encouraging letter but it won’t get here for 10 days. At best, when schedules align, technology decides to work right and they can see me on skype, they may see I need a hug but all they can do is say they’d give me one if they were here. The truth is it’s simply more difficult to feel love from 2,000 miles away.

It makes me grateful for the love of my creator. A love that knows me completely. A love that is never distanced but always present. For the past month, somewhat unknowingly, I’ve been learning to rest in this love.

¹ O LORD, you have searched me

and you know me.

² You know when I sit and when I rise;
you perceive my thoughts from afar.

³ You discern my going out and my lying down;
you are familiar with all my ways.

⁴ Before a word is on my tongue
you know it completely, O LORD.

(Psalm 139)

Snippets of Life in El Salvador

I apologize for the severe lack of blog posts recently. Life here in El Salvador has begun to pick up pace a bit. I’m finally getting settled into a routine. Lots of things have been keeping us busy here. Here is a brief summary of all the things that have been happening:

Speaking Hope

Elsa is in charge of an English program here in a community that Christ for the City works in called Bendición de Dios. When I was giving my quad a rest I was able to go with her to an English class and meet the girls she teaches. They recently had a bunch of curriculum donated so on Thursdays before our staff meeting when I don’t have soccer I am helping her organize it all. I’ve been creating lesson plans so that when missionaries come to teach English we can hand them a binder with all the information necessary to teach the class. Christ for the City is in the process of trying to promote this more and are asking Elsa to think of a name and create a logo. During a brainstorm session with her on the way back from the meeting I suggested “Speaking Hope.” The goal of the program is two fold: 1) To use English as a means of sharing the gospel and 2) Giving them the a base in English that will give them hope for opportunities in the future they might not otherwise have. She’s really excited about this and we even messed around with a few logo ideas.

Fresh Start Conference

Christ for the City brought a team of missionaries from an organization in Nebraska called Fresh Start to put on a conference for the staff and a few local churches. The focus was on how to discover places in your life where you’ve been hurt and how to go through the entire healing process to be freed from it. It was a very well done conference and was very well received. It’s especially important in a culture where forgiveness and healing are not frequently talked about. We were able to bring about 10 of the soccer boys to attend the conference as well. It was such a cool opportunity for them and awesome to see them actively engaged. I think many of them have great leadership qualities that if asked to step up and lead they would be capable of doing some amazing things!

English Speaking Bible Study

Last Tuesday night Elsa and I went to an English-speaking bible study at her church to check it out. It was such a perfect fit for both Elsa and I. We immediately felt welcomed into the group. We sang a few worship songs in English (which as much as I love worshiping in Spanish it’s nice to do it in English once in a while) and then had a good discussion about suffering and keeping perspective in the midst of it. Everyone was very really and engaged which was awesome. We both felt like this was a place where we can get support and be understood as most people in the group have a connection to or are from the United States. One couple is even thinking about moving to Boulder, CO! That same couple said that I remind them of and older version of their youngest daughter who is 11. We’ve both been looking forward to the group tonight ever since leaving last Tuesday. It’s a huge answer to prayer for both of us! Although Elsa speaks Spanish fluently, it’s easier for her to express herself in English so this is a great group for her where she can really use either. We’ve decided to make Tuesday afternoons our coffee shop day to avoid the evening traffic on the way to bible study. One of the couples in the group owns a chain of coffee shops in San Salvador called “Florence.” This is going to be our Tuesday afternoon hang out.

Coaching Girls Soccer

This has been one of my biggest challenges here. One day right as soccer was starting, Maltez (one of the coaches) approached me asking if I could coach the girls separately. With absolutely no practice plans and no time to come up with a plan I said yes. I managed to come up with drills and games but this wasn’t the hard part. The struggle is to coach in Spanish. How do you teach drills and basic techniques in passing, dribbling, shooting, etc when you don’t know the vocabulary to explain it? This has continued to be a struggle but I manage using my broken Spanish and a lot of demonstrations. There are usually only about 4 girls in the group and sometimes only 2. This also makes it hard. How do you run drills and games with just 3-5 people? Options are limited, and typically less exciting. However, the biggest challenge has been with 2 or 3 of the girls. They simply aren’t interested in learning how to play. They only want to talk with the boys, which is also a distraction for them. While I believe that they genuinely want to play better, they have no interest in doing what it takes to get there. This leads to low energy, sloppy participation in drills, complaining, and choosing to simply stop when they don’t feel like doing something. Yesterday afternoon some of the other coaches started to pick up on it and I had a conversation with Maltez and Chamba afterward. When soccer isn’t the ultimate goal of the program it complicates the decisions to be made. We want the girls there to build relationships with them and pour into them as Christ would, but then there’s the soccer component. The means by which we do this is soccer. Additionally, the distraction for the boys isn’t healthy. If it’s taking away from the impact we can have on the guys it might not be a sacrifice worth making at this point. No decisions have been made but I think we’re going to set higher expectations of the girls and if they can’t meet those they aren’t ready for the soccer program and might be asked to leave. Please pray for guidance and patience in this area!

My First Salvadoran Wedding

Last Friday Elsa took me to a Salvadoran wedding with her. We only went to the reception and aside from the prom-ish dress and latin music, it was actually quite similar to weddings in the US. Unfortunately, in the process of backing I decided to leave my prom dress at home. With my limited wardrobe here (mostly consisting of soccer shorts and t-shirts) it was difficult to find something fancy enough. After being given many nice shirts to try on that would have been quite appropriate for belly dancing (they were pretty short), I decided it would be best to simply go a little more casual. I figured I would stick out enough with my light skin and blue eyes, and complete inability to latin dance, that it wouldn’t be a complete shock that I wasn’t dressed like everyone else. Towards the end of the reception they have what is called a “carnival.” They bring out all sorts of part items like beads, hats, whistles, masks, etc. to hand out to guests. It was a lot of fun and a cool way to and a little spice to the dance.

Beach House and Eliseo Quintanilla

This past Saturday Elsa took me to their beach house. We stopped at a local surf spot for lunch on the beach. After a tasty lunch we walked down the beach a little ways and found a spot to sit. From there Elsa spotted Eliseo Quintanilla a famous Salvadoran soccer player who played for DC United for 4 years and now is back in El Salvador playing for the national team of El Salvador and another national team called Firpo. After telling me a little bit about him (for more info click here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eliseo_Quintanilla) Elsa was determined to get me a picture with him. After gathering up the courage to talk to him we walked over and said hi on our way out. He and his friend (manager?) asked us to sit down and we ended up talking for about an hour. Most of the conversation was centered around the soccer school outreach that I’m working with. Elsa explained all that we’re doing with it and he seemed pretty interested. He offered to have some of the boys come watch a practice of his sometime. While it cut our relaxing time at the beach a bit short, it was a good conversation and a great contact for the future. After the conversation and declining an invitation to go out with him later that night in San Salvador, we headed to the beach house. We spent the night relaxing in hammocks, reading, and watching a movie. The next morning we packed up, had a local get a coconut down from the tree for us to eat and a bunch more to bring back to Elsa’s family, and headed back home.

Praises!

My quad and blisters have healed and I’m back in action at soccer

I’m feeling settled in and finding my niche

I’m beginning to see relationships starting to form a bit more with the youth

Elsa and I found an amazing bible study and community to get involved with

I’m still healthy!

Seth was offered and accepted the job in Boulder!

Pray Requests

Patience and guidance with the girls at soccer

Continued good health

Being able to focus on things here while also thinking about and planning what’s next

Continued safety (especially while driving)

Pictures!!!

Hey everyone! I've just added a slide show of some of my pictures to my blog. (On the right hand side.) I'll keep adding more pictures as I get them!

Misadventures of the Jocote... Festival?

Shortly after arriving in El Salvador Elsa shared with me her deep love for jocotes, a fruit that grows in many tropical regions throughout the world. After trying one or two and getting passed the unique texture of the fruit I began to understand her passion for jocotes. They have a flavor that is hard to describe but full of fruity goodness. A while ago, Bea, her stepmom, informed us of a Jocote Festival in the area. It was to take place at Cerro Verde, approximately 30-40 minutes away… or so we were told. We had heard many other things about this festival as well, the diverse presentations of artists such as the National Folklore Ballet (not sure what that means… but would have loved to see it! Any combination of folk and ballet must be amazing!), marimba and andina music, a vast array of typical Salvadoran food, and all sorts of foods and drinks made form jocotes including jocote juice, pie, honey, and ice cream. We had high hopes for what we might find at the jocote festival.

Our adventure began as we arrived at Elsa’s friend’s house where we were informed that the 30-40 minute drive would actually be more like an hour and a half drive. That wasn’t long enough to deter us from experiencing the wondrous jocote festival. We all piled in the car and pulled away from Elsa’s friend’s house in her Jeep Liberty and hit the road. It was smooth sailing until we started driving up the foothills and realized if we didn’t get gas we might not make it back down. Unfortunately this meant going back to the last gas station about 15 minutes behind us. This was just a minor set back. After all, the jocote festival would be well worth it. We filled up and were back on our way. As we climbed higher and higher closer to the park we started seeing many locals selling jocotes along the side of the road. This was a little strange but what was stranger was that all the cars coming down from the festival were stopping to buy jocotes. Had they not gotten enough jocote at the festival? After stopping at a lookout for pictures, we finally pulled up managing to squeeze between the parked cars that lined the street and the people walking every which way and landed a spot just outside the entrance. Couldn’t have been more perfect! We could avoid paying the extra 60 cents for parking.

As we walked up the last band was just finishing their last song. But we were so hungry after the long drive that we didn’t dwell on that for too long. We started looking for food, but unfortunately as we made the rounds to all the tents and stands it seemed as though they were all out of food… or had an hour wait. Hungry and disappointed we started to search for the jocotes. Yes… search. You’d think at a jocote festival it’d be more obvious where the jocotes are but it was not the case. We finally found some but they were more expensive than the jocotes at the market we pass multiple times a week in San Salvador. We searched for the other jocote food only to discover that there wasn’t any. After standing in line for 15 minutes and paying 10 cents to use the smelly bathrooms we found a place that had pupusas… or at least that’s what they called them. After praying extra hard that they wouldn't do a number on my stomach we ate the pupusas. (Which thankfully God granted.) Then we took a picture and left, glad that we hadn’t paid the extra 60 cents for parking.

Although the jocote festival was a bit of a failure, and not much of a festival, it was a fun trip nonetheless. Mainly redeemed by the view from the park, which was beautiful.