I It all started with a much heralded breakfast buffet at the Crowne Plaza this morning w JD and a powerful Nica who served some delicious coffee. JD was underwhelmed by breakfast but we both were impressed with our server's Karate skills. There is a karate competition across the street and teams from all over Central America are participating.
Gerard was able to piece together his makeshift trunk attachment and we loaded up to head out to Santa Rita, about an hour southwest of Managua. The only problem, early on, was JD's memory failed him (at 21, no less!) and we took the wrong road to Leone, which is very similar to our blessed Loop820, which can send a driver in all four directions at some point.
"Oh, you're going S on 820?"
"No, I want to go S on 820, but I'm actually heading W on 820"
"OK, head N on 35E until you get to where 35W intersects to with 121N, just past 30E"
"Got it"
It didn't set us back too badly and apparently everyone runs on Nica time, which means you get to your destination 4 days to 2 weeks and still be received warmly. We stopped two different times for directions to assure ourselves, until JD's memory kicked in when he saw his first landmark, a grocery store along the road to Leone.
All the while, we were entertained by Gerard's life lessons, which included losing his girlfriend, wives and maxims from his father. He is a highly engaging individual with enormous potential, if yielded fully to the Spirit. I believe I've just described most of us!
We arrived in Santa Rita around 9:30 am and came upon a humble looking school with students in uniforms playing soccer during recess. There were also a collection of older boys who were anxiously waiting for the Americans in order to play some baseball. The boys made their way down to their field, which was roughly 1/4 mile away from the school.
Houses were nestled along the path, with pigs working their ground, dogs hunting for food, and clothes hanging from the lines at each house.
The baseball field was reminiscent of the field in Sandlot, except Frankie Rodriguez and the gang didn't have to navigate through horse poop and, well, horses on the field. The horses were oblivious to the action and weren't going anywhere, as one horse was actually tied to a leash in right center field, making navigation for the outfielders perilous.
We started off with greetings to the group, handed out the gloves we brought for the kids. Only 2 kids had their own gloves, so our donations were of great benefit. Thank you, Dallas!
We had the kids partner up and had them play catch, finishing up with an old game called, "21".
We then went into fielding fundamentals, took some infield and outfield, and then scrimmaged for the final hour. We divided players after we established our two catchers and the players were free to steal and advance on passed balls, dirtballs, or wild pitches from the American pitchers, JD and myself. (There were no wild pitches).
The scrimmage was absolutely the most intriguing aspect as the Nica's showed a relatively high baseball IQ, athleticism, good baserunning, and aggressive swings at the plate. I was relegated to pats on the back, high fives, and lots "Bueno!" but there was one coach who had an obvious influence on the kids and was helping with where to throw, how far to run on bases, and swing instruction. Resourceful Nica's used branches with leaves as bases, including home plate!
We had a great time and as the game ended my only thought was I wish we had more time with this group. Some very good potential in many of the players with a few players showing some pretty good life in their arms. We shared why we were there, "love Jesus, love people, love baseball" and prayed with and for them. We handed out T-Shirts for the kids and wrapped up a good morning in Santa Rita by saying thank you's and goodbyes to the kids and the coaches.
We headed out to Gran Pacifica, a resort where Phil, Lisa, and JD stayed for awhile last year. The drive was scenic and, at times, like DFW traffic complete with traffic jams. But instead of cars slowing us down, it was cattle, horses, and people walking on the road, as if it were just for them.
When we arrived at GP, we treated to an incredible view of the Pacific at low tide while meeting some very good folks, who warmly greeted us, and they were especially glad to see JD. We played golf in the afternoon with Kent, a successful businessman, who introduced us to a round robin version of golf. The area and people had me thinking "I could live here..." and the only drawback to that would be vocation. What would I do?
The fun began on the way out, as we were close to running out of gas and had more miles to go than what was in the tank, which was made abundantly clear by our driver. We stopped at a well known eatery, Bob's Burritos and the fun began! We enlisted the help of a taxi driver to go get us gas in a Clorox bleach container in order to get us 22km down the road to the next station. After it was decided the first gallon wasn't enough, the taxi driver went for another gallon.
We headed back Managua hoping to find one more gallon along the way, which we did at the most curious place (to an American), a small roadside house with a dry erase board reading "Gasoline 1.20", which was $4.45 in US money. A lady funneled the gas in and we were on our way home.
The natural friction of souls bumping into each other put a slight taint for JD and I on the evening as our driver voiced frustration of the day's events, which gently reminded me we are in need of Jesus hour by hour and apart from him, we are jacked up.
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