I’ve been living in a bungalow in Apastapeque with thirteen other racers for the past two weeks. At times I feel like I’ve been here forever, but then I remember that this is just the beginning. My Spanish still needs a lot of work. The language barrier can be frustrating, but I’ve become a master at gesturing. It’s kind of like playing charades all day, everyday.
All of us piled into the back of a yet another pickup truck and drove to a large dirt soccer field outside of San Vincente. The guys got schooled, playing soccer against some far better competition. There was a baseball game happening in one corner of the field and Bethany played drums laughing along with a few children. Americans or foreigners in general, seem to attract a crowd, and when we walked next door for some worship songs and a few skits, they all followed. We piled into a tiny backyard next to the field and did our best to sing along in Spanish. The pastor of the local church shared the gospel and we gathered around to pray. Through the crowd we laid hands on people and prayed. Prayer has the power to break through all language barriers, and it felt so good to finally feel heard.
