What to Make of God's Agenda

Phil promised us instability and that's exactly what we got. "Nothing will go as planned" he stated confidently at breakfast several days ago, "But you won't forget it."

I'm certain I won't, for a number of reasons.

The comfort and security I seek is better left for Heaven, where investments are better kept and time is redeemed. We have ideas that serving abroad is somehow more important, more spiritual, and if we aren't careful, we can let ourselves feel plenty puffy about the good we are doing while also wondering how much more money this is going to cost.

I came across two verses on the plane back home that were hits right between the eye. The verses in their context had to do with giving.

The first passage is in Proverbs 11:24-25 and the main part that I highlighted was this: "Whoever brings a blessing will be enriched, and one who waters will himself be watered". The word enriched is defined as improving or enhancing the quality or value of. There has to come a time when we just give ourselves away without worrying about anything other than the bare essence of Christ's manifest work of grace. Without the empowering act of grace on our behalf, nothing we do is worth more than an nickel. But it comes back to me forgetting, quite often, I'm increasing my value and enhancing the quality of my life when I give it away.

That passage led me via a cross reference to 2 Corinthians 9:6-11 which is simply about not holding back any resource we have. Be cheerful with it all, in order to abound in every good work! If we sow bountifully, we receive bountifully. So much of this trip I focused on what this was costing me because I've now gone off the grid of Christian Education and am without a job currently. I've stepped into the unknown but am almost sure it was time to do so. I'm not employed in a profession I'd always been in and always thought where I'd finish. I'm not so sure.

What is next? Well, does it matter? If I focus on spending time with Jesus, loving and serving people, providing good value, give thanks in every circumstance, and have a great attitude, am I not doing his will? Does it matter what I do?

Well, professionally it always matters to the ego. The ego is insatiable and cannot be tamed. As I sat staring out the hotel window toward the city of Managua, I couldn't help but throw up a sigh and wimpy self pitied prayer as I wondered what in the world I had done with my life! The enemy whispers in those moments, "You've wasted your life and now you're coming to the close. Who knows how much time you have? Look what you've done! You might get 20 more years if you're lucky, but either way, it's winding down, pal."

Wow. I listened to that for a minute and got a little short of breath. It's a daunting thought. Look around, like Peter did and see what happens. Looking down, around, up, or down isn't profitable. Turn your eyes on Jesus, the Psalmist begs of us.

Do you know why?

The enemy is relentless and would like all of us to compare ourselves continually to those in our peer groups whether we know them or not. We are not made to compare and contrast. We will either give ourselves a pat on the back or throw pity parties wondering if God has forgotten us...worse yet, did we miss God somewhere along the road?

I remember sitting in the living room, in the middle of the night, of the foster home Cory and I were running back in 1996, having the very same desperate prayer and thought, "Have I missed You completely?" Those moments are disconcerting and I realize we have all wondered that. However, the sum of those thoughts are not any weightier than the individual thought manifest in each of us and it can be suffocating.

So, turn your eyes upon Jesus and the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace. This is not a one time deal, I can assure you. It must be hour by hour or the cords of this life will suck out the enrichment we are to receive by being light and life to others.

Whether it is in a foreign land or to the next door neighbor, plant and water. It will stretch you in any situation. We don't have to wait for the next mission trip.

I'm grateful for God's good blessings on this trip, His providential care, His timing, and his people plowing their ground, in Nicaragua as well as here in DFW. I learned to trust His agenda, which always includes people at different stages in their walk with Him. I learned to trust his timing and trust that it's always "Now" for us being ambassadors.

Comparison is the Thief of Joy and we must diligently guard our hearts from it.

Final Day in Managua

Today was very similar to Sunday because we were not able to secure any opportunities to teach and share with teams. This was originally scheduled to be our off day to go exploring and we decided to stay with that plan, still hopeful God would give us the privilege of loving and serving his people through baseball. The last two days here have been about his people, but simply without baseball. It's been fruitful in terms of relationships and serving others, but our only lament is no more baseball. 

Phil and Bob told us to go ahead and use the service provided by the hotel to drive their guests around. The sudden realization of this being a legitimate means of travel sparked a simultaneous "Oh, we could have done this yesterday" comment from both JD and I. 

I cannot imagine us trying to get out of Managua in our own car today, because every major road was blocked off due to this being a holiday complete with an enormous parade. The hotel staff rolled their eyes at the parade and we even heard a clear American expression, "It's lame". 

Our driver and JD in back seat

Our driver zig-zagged his way through Managua and eventually got us out by effectively using his horn and stick shift to set us on the road to Granada. There was plenty of conversation between our driver and JD, albeit not lengthy in nature, but rather informative. 

On the Way to Granada

Granada Historic Catholic Church

Up in Bell Tower which costs $1 to ascend

Starbucks of Nicaragua 

Ricardo, our boat guide through Lake Nicaragua's Islands

Justin sporting new "Okey's"

Monkey Island

Sometimes Rest is the Command

Sunday found JD and I without two important things: A clinic and a ride...to anywhere. Today was the originally scheduled Showcase with Boer in conjunction with IBA. We waited in the morning to hear from Bob or Phil as the opportunity to work with a team, which JD and I hoped would actualize, appeared to be imminent. The chance to work with a team is really ideal if no clinic can be secured and we hoped for the best. 

The breakfast crew has been fantastic all week. Our main waiter is a baseball player at night and had a game in Leon, about an hour away. We couldn't make it, but JD brought him a baseball that he asked us to sign. I broke out my autograph from 1991 while JD had his signature still fresh from his time at Pepperdine. 

There was no follow up call or email, so we decided to head out, with a very short leash, out and around our hotel area. The first mall, the JV mall, was directly across the street and is reminiscent of the early malls I frequented growing up. The kids are still looking for opportunities to sneak away but instead of making eye contact with a nod of the head, they text to each other because they can. 

Outside in the court area pictured below, a group of teens had an empty 2 liter bottle and were playing "Spin the Bottle", minus the smooching (maybe it was for later and they were keeping track). This area seems to be the area where the smooching takes place, as we observed several couples staking out their spot in the second level area outside. 

Center Court Managua Mall

We then took the elevator up to the top floor, which is reserved for weddings and other formal settings. If we had found this earlier in the week, we may have been up here more as the views, as well as the wind, were refreshing. From the roof, we got a great view of Lake Managua in the distance, Dennis Martinez Stadium, The Liberation Army Headquarters (a stone's throw from our hotel, but we recommend not throwing any stones), and neighborhoods covered with corrugated roofing and cinder block walls. Quite a juxtaposition.

Atop Crowne Plaza overlooking Managua

Just to the right of the photo below is a large monument with stairs leading up to the top. We walked along the road you see below and up to the steps thinking nothing of the next step until the armed guard we just passed said firmly, "No". We stopped, turned around and figured the best thing to do was retrace our steps, like defensive ends are taught to do when recognizing screens. Further down the road is the history of the Sandinista's and the leaders of each "administration" along with their photos which look like a most wanted set in a post office. They are proud of their history and the army is and has been pretty stalwart over the years. 

Juan made mention on our way back from Esteli the Sandinista's had "lost their way" by not keeping the ideals of Sandino, the hero of Nicaragua in the early 20th century. 

Headquarters for the Liberation Army

Lake Managua

Sandinistan Monument we could not go up

Neighborhood by Hotel

Our Home away from Home

Our night ended with another treat, Papa John's Pizza, ordered by one of our new friends and 45 minutes later, we were set for the night. We weren't sure if the pizza was delivered on a bicycle, motorcycle or car but it was delicious. 

JD gives a thumbs up for Papa John's

Estelì and The Cuban Cowboy

We came home from Gran Pacifica last night unsure of what we were doing today and unsure if we would see our friend Gerard again. Both questions would be answered in the span of 12 hours. 

Phil and Bob put together a connection with Gilberto and the Roberto Clemente Academy in Estelì late last night and we had an event! We were hopeful to have another means of transportation and another driver. Everything came together, (Thank you Lord!) and the legend of the Cuban Cowboy awaited us. 

Today started out with cautious optimism based on the reports of our new driver, Juan Martinez. Juan is well esteemed by IBA and Phil, so JD and I were looking forward to the trek to Estelì with him. Our only issue in the morning was the string of emails between all our parties left unanswered by Gerard. I won't spend much time here, but that alone should have told us what we needed to know. 

Juan picked us up around 11am Nica time and we headed for the Best Western to see if our new friend was still with us. We pulled up, looked around the parking lot and saw no Corrolla. JD went to the lobby, looked around...there was no Gerard. Our new friend, fresh with a full tank of gas and cash in hand from us, was long gone to Madagalpa or some other destination where the gringos were more appreciative. 

With that chapter closed, JD and I were looking forward to 20 kids (that number is similar to how Nica's clocks work-thereabouts) at Estelì and some time on the road with Juan. Juan is a measured, yet well spoken young man. He is often the babysitter for his new daughter, Andrea, while his wife, Valerie, tends to the business side of Gran Pacifica Resort. He himself has a business driving clients wherever they need to go and is on call 24/7. He was in IT, but left that industry due to the stress and time it took. He was determined to work for himself and went into business with a friend. He was perfect for the drive and stayed with us for the day. 

Juan, Our driver and JD's  translator

The countryside along the way to Estelì was pastoral and scenic, similar to country drives one would take in the states. Ranges of mountains were littered throughout the drive with abundant farmland ripe with tobacco and sugar cane. 

Juan asked many good questions about our purpose with the baseball clinics, including a thought provoking, "What makes a player good?" He also asked if we would rather have a good player with bad character or a average player with good character. That sort of question crystallizes the philosophy of coaches, to a degree. At most levels, we cannot choose our players; they choose us. So, it is our job to work to shape and mold each player. At the end of the day, most coaches would prefer character over talent. But some coaches always feel as though they could work with the malcontent to effect change. That should be our approach but bad attitudes will torpedoe the mission more times than not. 

Gilberto warmly greeted us and the liaison established last March with IBA seems fruitful and hopefully this relationship between the two will continue to grow. There were several coaches in uniform and nineteen more players than what was communicated by our friends in Estelì. Most of the players were in their uniforms, with about half of the kids involved in the Roberto Clemente Baseball Academy. Curious onlookers populated the grandstands and dugout areas, while the presence of Pedro Ramos seemed to both haunt the adults and delight the players. 

Ramos was an intriguing figure. He was dressed like a retiree in Miami or, according to JD's astute observation, a drug lord. (His history is peppered with encounters with the law due to his drug dealing). 

He was wearing clean, white pants with a white belt, black shirt with a large Star of David necklace and an Atlanta Braves hat. He played for many organizations including the Yankees and is best known (in baseball circles) for serving up home runs at a record pace- one every seven innings pitched in his career. 

He handed me his "business card" with a picture of him from his MLB days in his Yankee uniform. The Yankees are the symbol of success to the Nica's and there's little doubt why Ramos wears his Yankee hat- for status and gravitas with the kids and adults. It probably also helped that his best years in the MLB were with the Yanks, assuaging Ramos' angst over a rather mediocre pitching career, albeit 15 years long in MLB. 

He made sure to remind JD and I he was still doing great feats at 80 years old (he looked quite fit) and that he hit a fungo 461' on a $1,000 bet with Mickey Mantle that Mantle never paid, according to Ramos. His presence in Estelì seems to be a bit of problem for the coaches at the academy because he comes and goes while having the affection of the kids, as they clamor for him when he's around. 

The coaches at the academy, as well as Gilberto, are not comfortable with Ramos' intermittent presence and equipment is an issue because both Gilberto and Ramos said conflicting things about what happens to the equipment when allocated. It's a tough situation and it's clearly an uncomfortable topic for Gilberto, who is a genuinely pleasant and passionate man. 

Gilberto and Esteli's main coach 

The Cuban Cowboy, Pedro Ramos and I

The Baseball Players and Coaches at Esteli Clinic

Younger Campers with their new IBA shirts. 

Coaches and older Players after evaluations at Esteli

We spent some time working with the players, JD taking the outfielders and I with the infielders. The players have been given decent instruction and they didn't lack for baseball IQ, basic fundamentals or awareness. They had adequate foot and glove work but could use more quality reps. Gilberto's son, who is 14, is already a polished catcher and consistently hit 2.0-2.1 on his throws to 2B. Another promising prospect, a 14 year old LHP with a big frame, hit 75-76 in tennis shoes while showing relatively good command of his off speed stuff. 

We took some infield and Pedro said I was an "OK fungo hitter" but that he would show me how it was done better. So, while JD timed 60's, I was fielding ground balls from the Cuban Cowboy fungo machine. He and I connected through something as simple as that and it was a momentary suspension of time and a blast. Of course, he wanted to work me to the backhand and glove side, but my six stitches, now comfortably lodged 3 days in my leg, wisely said, "no Bueno". 

Our day finished with getting the group together and sharing why we were here at Estelì. Gilberto translated for me as we emphasized God's purpose for each of us. Jesus wants us to use our talents for his purposes and not for our own pleasure. God takes great pleasure when we find pleasure in Him through the gifts he's given. Small victories of daily diligence will lead to bigger victories. It all starts with doing small things well for His honor. 

After pictures and handing out of shirts to the players, I had an interview with a representative of some organization covering the day with Pedro acting as my translator. After answering a few questions, the reporter and Pedro went into their own conversation which, Pedro later told me, was about the noble intentions of IBA and our visit. Well, knowing what we now know, it's difficult to say if that's accurate. ;)

JD handing out IBA shirts to the younger players

A great day concluded at Estelì with three young boys asking Juan how they could ask the Americans for a baseball, which is a highly valuable commodity in this area. They asked with confidence and JD and I gave them each a ball as their eyes lit up like Ralphie getting his Red Rider BB gun on Christmas morning. 

We had a good trip back with Juan while JD's prescient comment about Pedro would be confirmed with an email from Phil detailing Pedro's tumultuous past. When we got back to the hotel, we were informed by Juan that just across the street was a mall with a food court. So, we neglected Phil's advice on good lakeside restaurants and went to...

Dinner Time!

McDonalds!

...where we found comfort in a double cheeseburger and, believe it or not, a delicious 3 piece chicken combo that would rival any legitimate chicken place in Texas. And, all things being what they are in Managua, one must try their Toña, which we did. 

We thank God for another day and the opportunity to love and serve his people while trusting hour by hour his provision and purpose. 

Until tomorrow, Buenos Dias! 

Esteli Campers & Coaches

Santa Rita Comes to Play

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. 

A bomb hit by a Santa Rita player

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. 

Managua

The flight from DFW to San Salvador featured lots of little kids and a pretty decent meal. I had a quick layover in San Salvador and a short flight to Managua. San Salvador's terminal was filled with duty free shops and, curiously, 80's music. Apparently, the market tested well for cheesy MTV videos on the long walks to one's flight.

Managua was interesting. Bag guys fighting quickly for work, custom declarations given to attendants looking more like doctors than custom agents, and we stopped to get a heat map of ourselves on the tv. But the most interesting aspect was the passport check in- after it was done, a "tourist fee" of $10 was extorted by any means possible. I had no cash, so the non-English speaking (except for "10 dollars") took me through the airport until he found an ATM, all the while speaking to anyone who would listen about the plight. He pointed to the ATM and I told him "I'm not using my MasterCard for this". 

So, we stood for at least 10 minutes there in a standoff for ten dollars in cash. He did not relent. We walked back to the booth from where he left 20 minutes before and waited for an English speaking friend. When one was found, the interpreter simply said, "You have friend?"

"Lots of them, but none here with $10!", I noted, then added, "Are you going to hold me all night for ten dollars?"

"Why you no have cash?", the interpreter asked. 

"For situations like this", I replied. 

It reminded me of the movie Better Off Dead, where the persistent paper boy hounded Jon Cusack by repeating his only line in the movie: "Two Dollars!"

Fortunately, JD was in sight and the other bag man grabbed my two heavy baseball equipment filled bags, sensing a big payday (which he should already known wasn't coming based on my "no cash" policy. But JD came through and would be repaid at the hotel bar after he some "chicken" wings. 

Gerard,

 our driver from Livonia, Michigan was waiting in a rented Toyota Corrola. Gerard has spent lots of time in Central America and has been in Managua since Monday. The best way to describe Gerard at this point is that he has a servants heart wrapped within a sailors mouth. He is a passionate, go-getter, man of action and he knows the lay of this land. He is genuinely excited about baseball and excited about language. 

The Toyota had a trunk issue, which was thoughtfully pointed out by every driver and motorcyclist on the way to the hotel. The trunk and backseat was full. JD was sandwiched into the back seat amid bags of equipment and seemed to be enjoying himself. The trunk, however, didn't stay such. In the haste of the bag guy to get his cash, he jammed the trunk shut in the bags and broke the fastening mechanism. 

Every 2 blocks or so, the trunk would open on our 20 minute drive to the hotel, which would be made even longer by our stop at gas station with no tools. Eventually, some resourceful Nicaraguan found pliers and temporarily fixed the trunk. Temporarily because 4 blocks later, the trunk flew open again. Gerard did his best, driving like an old lady out of necessity but it didn't help. 

Once we found the huge painting of Hugo Chavez, eerily reminiscent of the early Obama propaganda posters, we were within range. Of course, we had not eaten and at 10:50pm local time, we were hopeful the Crowne Plaza Bar would do the trick. 

6 units of wings for $6 and fried potatoes with cheese would indeed do the trick. The wings looked sketchy, but JD threw them down and the fried potatoes were just French fries in a bowl, covered in melted cheese. Gerard joined us with his own sustenances, Jim Beam and water, "in that order" he declared. 

Gerard didn't want to go back to the hotel, so he stayed with us. Now Phil had warned me JD was a snorer; no, he wasn't, Gerard was a snorer and a good one at that!

All in all, JD and I are thankful for God's provision on day 1. We are looking forward to the camp at Santa Rita today and the resort. 

Stage One of the Great (Mis)Adventure

God calls things that are not as though they are. We trust this but as CS Lewis wisely penned 60 years ago, we don't truly know what we believe until it is tested.

In the past 2 months, I've run through a wide range of thoughts in my professional and personal (read spiritual) life. I've acted on some and am now acting on one that is sure to be memorable. 

The circumstances have led me to this terminal, D7, at DFW airport as I wait for the unknown in the midst of so many unknowns soon to be known. 

One of my former players (JD) is waiting in Houston for his flight to Managua and we will be using baseball the next few days to preach the gospel and if necessary, we'll use words. 

What seemed like a sure thing a few weeks back came all unraveled as the host of the events we were going to conduct pulled out in the last 18 hours. So, our team (Phil & Lisa Davis, Bob O., and Justin (JD) were trying to figure out should I stay or should I go. 

Our first instinct was to bail, but I'm reminded most times the hard thing is the thing. At least in my case, comfort is what I seek and this is anything but comfortable. After breakfast with Phil, talking with God and Cory, it became evident we were still a go. Plus, eating $470 of airfare seemed so unDutch-like. Of course, the good Dutchman isn't spending that much on a flight anyway. 

Turn in your card, poser!

So, stage one is loading up 2 giant bags of baseball equipment on to Avianca's luggage belt, slowly working through TSA's line, and waiting to board an airline I've never heard of in order to be stretched to new lengths. 

This is the great adventure!

TSA Line

6 stitches last night further clouding the trip!