It's kind of crazy how quickly a place where I set up my tent can turn into home. I kid you not, there's some kind of transformation that happens somewhere in the midst of the rice and beans lunches and tearing down rock walls with pick axes that your soul starts to find its resting place.
That happened in Palacaguina, Nicaragua. And fortunately (yet unfortunately for my hatred of goodbyes) this is bound to happen a good 9 or 10 more times this year. I blame it on community. God in his rich wisdom designed the body of Christ to thrive in community. We share laughter and burdens and praise God and call each other crazy in Spanish.
I made family (like friends, but closer) with some beautiful ladies last month. I called them "Mujeres de la cocina" (Women of the kitchen) or "Bonitas" (Beautifuls) if I was feeling lazy. And they were. Every day we were in Palacaguina, they served us three meals a day. They were up in the kitchen from 6 to 6 daily, in the hot sun standing next to the hot oil, cooking up deep fried plantains and stuffed potato balls and fried chicken.
Good gravy I fell in love with those women. I stopped over to visit their outdoor kitchen almost daily, just to engage in a little Spanish dialogue and to laugh and dance and get my hair braided. They took me in as one of their own and called me their daughter. Women I can barely communicate with became my surrogate moms for the month. They would squeeze me tight and tell me to behave and cheer me on when I wanted to carry the baskets of food on my head.
Our ministry was manual labour and we did accomplish a lot. Walls went up in the feeding centre, a new floor was put in the church, and "mountains" of solid rock were moved. Chicken coops were built and the little mountain neighbourhood of Los Ranchos was blessed. But I was equally blessed by the generosity of those women who got up early every morning to make sure we were fed.
I will not soon forget them, as I wear a reminder of their beauty on my wrist in the form of a bracelet. I am happy to know that I'll see them again in Heaven, that I'll get to spend time with them in the kitchen again, cutting up cucumbers for them and smearing beans on tortillas (we're eating Hispanic food in Heaven, in case you didn't know).
One big, beautiful body of believers. Home is where the heart is and if you're heart is in Christ, you'll find home just about anywhere.
(There were supposed to be photos in this blog but Denny's internet is just not making that happen! My apologies!)
