(This is a long post.
It’s a post that has taken me many months and countries to write, not
because of its length, but its difficulty.
I’ve enjoyed writing an occasional blog this year, but not this
one. This story describes, I think, the
longest day of my life, though the total hours of the day equal much more than
24. It’s my perspective and my heart on
what happened, and the truth the best I can remember it. So if you’re able to find the time to read
this, I really appreciate it, and thank you so much for your prayers and
support this year.)
‘Those who go down to the sea in ships, who do business on
great waters, they see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep.’
–
Psalm 107:23-24
God speaks from the sea.
To the disciples (Matt. 8:27), to David (Psalm 107:23-24), to Isaiah
(Is. 50:2), to Moses (Ex. 14:22), and to me. Though my home is landlocked Tennessee, He’s
led me there more times than I deserve.
The Pacific, Atlantic, Indian Ocean, the Caribbean, Mediterranean, South
China Sea. Yea, there’s something there with God and the Sea.
Maybe
it’s the mystery they share.
“. . . making known to us the mystery of
His will, according to His purpose . . .”
Ephesians
1:9
“But more wonderful than the lore of old
men and the lore of books is the secret lore of the ocean.”
H. P. Lovecraft
Maybe
the power.
“Twice I have heard this: that power
belongs to God.”
Psalm
62:11
“.
. . and to hear it raging and roaring like a wild
beast in its den. . .”
William
Hazlitt
Maybe
the beauty.
“Your eyes will see the King in his
beauty…”
Isaiah
33:17
“. . . these are the times of
dreamy quietude, when beholding the tranquil beauty and brilliancy of the
ocean’s skin . . .”
Herman
Melville
God reveals
His heart to me from the heart of the ocean.
Who I am, who He is, what He did for me, what He desires, His
personality, His plans for me, His love for me. But never like this.
The vision
still evokes tears. Even now, three
months later. And, understand, there’s
no deep symbolism with it that requires interpretation. It’s not a life-changing word for somebody,
neither is it especially challenging. I’m
alright with that. I don’t care if it’s
corny, and it doesn’t matter if there’s not a challenge, because I was there. I
saw Him.
Tuesday Morning in
Leon
My eyes open. There’s
a pounding on the door, and it takes me a few minutes to remember where I am. Bunk beds everywhere, each one assigned an
oscillating fan, and I’m still in my blue jeans. The long day before rushes into my memory – I’m
in a hostel in Leon, Nicaragua. A voice
too loud for the morning echoes from the other side of the door.
“It’s 9:30! We’re going to the beach… are you ready?”
The Nicaraguan sun was up earlier than me this morning. I step outside the hostel and the heat
reminds me of the day before, lying on the side of the road with my team for
hours. But today’s different. We’re going to Playa Roca, my favorite beach
in Nicaragua, and I can’t wait. I
welcome the temperature as we load our bags into the truck.
Of course, Ol’ Reliable (the ministry’s large truck) won’t
be joining us today, as it’s still in the shop getting a new radiator. We have a much smaller truck that we’re
taking to the beach, so it takes about 15 minutes to figure out how to piece the
puzzle that is our team together and fit in the back of the truck. In about 20 minutes, we’ll be relaxing to the
tune of waves on sand. Diego’s phone
rings.
The beginning of April
It had passed midnight when we turned the corner to New Song
Ministry for the first time. I was cold
and sleepy, but awoke quickly when I heard that the young, American guy called
Diego, with dreads, a sleeveless shirt, and a long, black goatee standing at
the front door was our main contact for the month.
After three months with older, religious, way-too-serious
South American pastors as contacts, I welcomed ‘different’. Of course, with a guy that looks like that,
it’s tough to read what different was going to look like, but at that point I
was more than happy to roll the dice. Lisa, our other contact here that had picked us up from the airport, was
also young, and had just finished the World Race a few months before! I knew it was going to be a good month, and I
didn’t even know where we were or what we were doing.
My teammate Chris and I stayed up talking to Diego late into
the night, and from that point, through sports, YouTube videos, jokes, Tona, road
trips, early-90s movies, and a desire for our Creator, we would become good
friends. The next day, I thought my month of different was
confirmed when Diego talked to us about what we would be doing at New Song.
Next to Haiti, Nicaragua is the poorest nation in the
Western Hemisphere, and the town we lived in – Chichigalpa – was no
exception. There were about 100* members
of New Song church, and about 70% of them were youth from around the area. Our ministry this month was simple: build
relationships with the youth. No
(dreaded) door to door ministry, no street evangelism, and no preachers
randomly telling
you that you have ‘a word’ for the church congregation. Just freedom to get to know the youth. Play sports, dance, have conversations, go
out to dinner, teach English, have campfires, play games.
That same day, Diego, Chris and I went outside and threw
football with four boys that were members of the church. Those four boys would quickly become the focus
of our ministry. Abel, Gato, Emerson and
Anthony. While the girls on my team
spent the days building relationships with the girls, Chris and I were outside playing
sports and hanging out with the boys.
Abel was athletic, good looking and knew it. He was a natural leader, with only a spirit
of pride keeping him from living in greatness. Gato was unique and tough to read. At times, he was extremely goofy and funny, but a lot of the time he
kept to himself more than the others. The one thing he couldn’t keep hidden was his kind heart. Emerson was the suave one of the group – funny,
always dressed good and loved to dance. Like Abel, at times he worried too much about others opinions of him,
but hey, he’s a teenager. 
When the sun set on that first day throwing football, I think
Anthony stood out to me the most. He had
long, straight hair and a black New Era cap. Only 16, he was the youngest of the four and looked every bit of it. Most, I remember his comical lack ability to
throw or catch the football. Anthony
wasn’t especially athletic to begin with, but Diego had brought that football to
New Song only a few weeks before. It was
the first time any of them had ever actually held a football. Even still, he loved watching it on
television, and now, he loved playing it.
Though he was the baby of the group, he had the most
direction. Even high school wasn’t
guaranteed in Nicaragua. But while the
other boys struggled to graduate, Anthony was already thinking ahead. He was ambitious, and had an entrepreneurial-mind. He gardened. He loved computers and designed the pastor’s power point for every
sermon. He loved making hammocks and
bracelets to sell, and was always thinking of the next business idea.
This wasn’t always the case. Lisa met Anthony on the World Race three years ago. Now, she’s his best friend and big sister in
every sense of the word except last name. She talks about him often in her blog:
“I met him before he met Christ. When he was 13, he had already dropped out of
school because of bad grades. He had
quit believing that was capable of doing anything. He had quit dreaming for his future. He was working a dangerous and illegal job in
the sugar cane fields to pay his mother’s debts so they didn’t lose their
home. I remember asking him what he
wanted to do with his life and he stared blankly in return.
But I saw him transformed. I saw him baptized. I saw him
begin to dream. I saw him begin to plan
for the future. I saw his pride when he
began working at the church. I saw him
believe the Lord’s promises in Jeremiah 29:11. I saw him really begin to walk with the Lord in real ways. I was here visiting with my family when he
brought the very first hammock that he had made all by himself and how proud he
was to show it to me and explain how he made it. He and Gato even held up one end each and
then sat in it so I could see how it worked. He finally believed that the Lord had a special plan for his life.”
And so there were conversations over Google Translator. There was soccer in bare feet. There was a painful game called the Great
Wall of China. There was laughter. There was teen drama. There were youth meetings. There were water balloon fights. There was baseball, and, of course, there was
football. Chris worked with Anthony a
lot on throwing, and near the end of the month his spiral was looking pretty
good. Yea, we got to know them over the
month. Then, we got to love them.
Our Anthony
In the back of a small truck, saltwater soaks my imagination
and Diego hangs up the phone. This was
our last weekend at the beach with Diego and Lisa before heading to El Salvador
for May. We may not be near a beach next
month in El Salvador, so there is no time to waste. Diego stares blankly at the truck,
overflowing with blankets, bags and World Racers. Then, it was different.
“Anthony,” says Diego. “He’s dead.”
Silence.
“He… drowned.”
A pause, just long enough to be called one.
“Who’s Anthony?” asks Chris.
“You don’t … You mean, our
Anthony?”
Tuesday Morning at
the Beach
To say that New Song is more than a church is to undersell
the point. Youth are lost on Monday and
Tuesdays, when the property is closed for Diego and Lisa’s weekend. Every other day is spent at the church playing
sports, Facebooking, hanging out with best friends and just being
teenagers. There are worse places in
Chichigalpa to be a teenager.
It seemed like a good idea when the youth organized a trip
to the beach for the weekend we would be gone.
Parents would be there, and it was a great alternative to the usual
wandering around town with nothing to do.
Most of the kids couldn’t swim, and were terrified of the water. Besides, the waves weren’t especially
dangerous at the beach they were visiting.
A few weeks before, Diego and Lisa had taken the youth to a waterfall,
and most of the kids, particularly Anthony, had refused to even get in the
small pond that was there.
There was never an explanation to why eight of the youth were
so deep in the water. That morning, the
wave awoke like the sun, earlier than I could.
It was one of those that defies logic, that a name like rogue doesn’t
quite define and breaks the mold of how an ocean should behave, that is talked
about on news reports but never witnessed.
A man still drunk from the night before pulled one of the kids out of
the water. Five others made it back to
shore on their own. Emerson was dragged
out hardly breathing, choking and coughing up water.
Of the four boys, Emerson was closest to Anthony. In the television series, ‘The Office’, a
public speaker once asked the employees what a hero is to them. While Jim nods in mock agreement, Dwight
replies, “A hero kills people, people that wish to do them harm. A hero is part human and part
supernatural. A hero is born out of a
childhood trauma or out of a disaster that must be avenged.” “Okay, um,” says the public speaker, “you’re
thinking of a superhero.”
A hero is a young teen that nearly drowns trying to save his
best friend. It was no secret that
Anthony couldn’t swim. When the wave came, Emerson
grabbed hold of Anthony’s long hair, but he could barely swim himself. Instead of carrying his friend towards the
shore, the water was carrying Emerson under.
He couldn’t hold on any longer without drowning himself, and from the
beach, the youth watched. It’s all they
could do. They watched as Anthony used
the last energy in his body to stay above the water. Another wave came over him, and then there was
only the sea.
Tuesday Afternoon at
New Song
From the bed of our truck, loud cries echo through the
second largest city in Nicaragua. We
arrive to the bus station and quickly jump out.
Diego and Lisa drive off towards the beach to be with the youth and we
head back to New Song to be with the kids that didn’t go to the beach. On the bus, sobbing American girls sit next
to curious and slightly concerned locals.
I sit next to Chris and stare out the window. I’m emotionless, but only because I don’t
know what to think.
When we get back, we put our arms around each other in a
circle of seven and pray. Between words,
tears splash onto our sandals. We pray
for mercy and grace, for the children and parents, for Lisa and Diego, and for
miraculous, illogical, seemingly impossible, life. And still, I can’t feel or process
anything. We decide to have quiet time
and put on worship music in the living room. I sit there for at least an
hour. Nothing.
Frustrated and confused, I pull out my journal. “If I can’t process in my head, I’ll try
writing to figure this out,” I think to myself.
I sit down, open the journal and see my friend.
My eyes close, reality grips me. Anthony’s there and so is the sea. So am I.
I see him trying to swim, and every muscle in his body fights to survive. But my attention is caught by immense,
surrounding, drowning fear. It’s more
than seeing it, though, I sense it – but more than that. I feel
his terror, and I see him go under. Under
the surface, terror is stubborn while his muscles give in.
It’s a terror produced from expecting life. From waking up and going to bed still
breathing thousands and thousands of days in a row. From the normalcy of an invisible,
unrelenting hand of grace on every second of life. Fear that comes from a morning swim with best
friends and not a care in the world, to the truth that life just might be over
– soon. That comes from the thought that
maybe, just maybe, Love finally turned His back. It’s a terror that could be experienced by us
at any moment, but hasn’t. The surprise,
the fight, the thoughts, and the terror lasted only seconds.
And I saw Him – My King. In dark water, my fighter and my lamb, comfort
and my courage. Anthony saw him, too, and
Love took Anthony into his arms. With a single
tear and a smile, He made everything all… well, He just made everything. Peace covered darkness, joy covered
fear. Like black clouds that pass after
a few drops of rain and gentle thunder, terror was a distant backdrop to light,
and a baby-faced 16-year-old boy sank into an embrace and a Love unimagined by
man.
“I keep thinking about her,
alone in that truck so terrified…”
Jesus reached over and put
his hand on Mack’s shoulder and squeezed. Gently he spoke, “Mack, she was never
alone. I never left her; we never left her, not for one instant. I could no more abandon her, or you, than I
could abandon myself.”
–
The Shack
Tuesday
Afternoon at the Beach
We loved Anthony a lot at the end of the month. But, Lisa and Diego knew him for over three
years, and like brother and sister they watched him grow and become. They dropped us off at the bus station and
drove to the beach. In Lisa’s blog about
Anthony, she describes her time at the beach:
“Then came the tears, the uncontrollable sobs. I vacillated between
sobbing, screaming out in anger, and the complete inability to breathe. I
literally cried until I made myself sick and began throwing up from the
back of
the truck as we raced down the road towards the beach.
We arrived at the beach and I just sprinted towards my kids. I
embraced them. We just held each other and cried and hurt together. I ran from
person to person just holding them, telling them how much I loved them,
listening as they cried out in anguish as they tried to explain what had happened,
and mostly just sat together in our pain.”
Tuesday Night
My journal floods as tears break through my eyes and hours
of caged emotion are finally set free. The
vision’s over. I break down, but it
isn’t long before God is speaking again.
He asks me, now that I’ve seen death’s reality, if I would ever die for
Him? I cry more without an answer.
But it’s not long before I pull myself together. The kids are starting to make their way to
the church. We switch from English to
Spanish worship, and they slowly enter our room. The women on our team spend hours catching
tears and holding their Nicaraguan little sisters. The rest of the day is spent similar to
Lisa’s – just sitting together in our pain.
Diego and Lisa get back in time for a later dinner. It’s been a long day, and I assume it’s
finally coming to a close. “I came back
to eat and grab some things,” says Diego.
“I’m going back to sleep on the beach tonight, then at sunrise go out on
the ocean to look for his body. It still
hasn’t been found. You or Chris are
welcome to join me.”
I think logically, but not for long. In minutes, I know there’s no reason for me
to go with Diego. I don’t know anyone there
besides Diego, there are already enough guys in the boat to look for him, and I
don’t even speak Spanish. We finish
dinner and Diego starts to get his things together to leave. Still, no reason to go. But there’s a whisper I can’t ignore – that I
can only say, “uh oh,” too.
I ask Chris what he thinks about us going, and, though I
don’t know why, he says exactly what I’m thinking. “One of us should go, one should stay.”
Diego gives me a couple minutes to grab a flashlight, a blanket
and some clothes. The team prays for us
before we leave. They ask for protection
and say another prayer that will be echoed throughout the night. The events of today reached our other teams
spread out in Nicaragua, and two of the teams that live near New Song pray and
fast throughout the night. Like our
team, they pray that in the morning we will find Anthony – alive. We get in Ol’ Reliable and drive towards the
beach. We’ll be there by midnight.
The sea is everything. It
covers seven tenths of the terrestrial globe. Its breath is pure and healthy.
It is an immense desert, where man is never lonely, for he feels life stirring
on all sides.
–
20,000 Leagues Under the
Sea
