tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38867087202435091022024-03-14T09:19:30.243-07:00Hermana Cara in NiCARAguaThe adventures, musings, observations and insights of Hermana Cara Behan as she serves her LDS mission in Nicaragua.Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.comBlogger31125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-35413740629534890772014-04-15T15:47:00.000-07:002014-04-15T15:47:15.505-07:00Behans Never Quit: 14 April 2014<div dir="ltr">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsGeVWx29ichsEVmbX6sku_70BqsXzrfGzfy4IQEhLFz1ja9NDza19AAukQwnSMiDIpR12Xdd7lP4sLxWaiTuuM4VY1nxc1CFJQVebug-6IqF9_rbv_I4E9L0KgM5Vt17KPPVzxvcW5yeJ/s1600/Cara_Patri_Baptism.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsGeVWx29ichsEVmbX6sku_70BqsXzrfGzfy4IQEhLFz1ja9NDza19AAukQwnSMiDIpR12Xdd7lP4sLxWaiTuuM4VY1nxc1CFJQVebug-6IqF9_rbv_I4E9L0KgM5Vt17KPPVzxvcW5yeJ/s1600/Cara_Patri_Baptism.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hermanas Behan and Gonzalez with Roger and Patricia at Patricia's baptism.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
¡Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So
I finally figured out what Hna. Lopez reminds me of. You know the pigs
on the game Angry Birds? That's what she looks like, in a more
attractive humanized Tongan-looking womanly sense. Something about her
facial expressions are exactly the same. She isn't Tongan, she's
Guatemalan, but she's got this androgynous Pacific Islander thing going
on which is cool. Really thick, defined eyebrows..super long jet black
curly hair..and she rolls her eyes a lot. Like the pigs! I wish you
could see her so you could congratulate me for how right I am.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I
also may or may not have lied to Ana Rosa (our food cita) and told her
that I have an aversion to gluten (aka rice and tortillas), and it may
or may not have been the smartest thing I've done on my entire mission.
"Thou shalt not lie unto thy fellow men, but unto the woman who makest
thy food, thou mayest change the truth slightly, so that thy waist line
may wax smaller in the land." 1 Caribbeans 12:14<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The
result? Less fried things and more salad! We eat a lot of fish caught
straight from the ocean and there are now many more green things on our
plates than brown. Heck. Yes. I've also taken to carrying a plastic bag
in my backpack in the event I've been giving an excessive amount of food
(aka, always) or something that isn't edible (sometimes), and I have to
say, I'm moving up in the world. My crafty bag hiding skills have saved
me from consuming many weird things.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When
you gain weight here, sometimes they tell you, "Se puso hermosa," or,
you got more beautiful. But the actual translation is, "Well.. ya got
fat." I've received several "hermosa" comments lately, so I'm actively
fighting against the man. The man, in this case, being the one who
decided that eating three cups of rice and tortillas every meal of the
day is a good idea.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Even though I
don't trust them because the majority of them lie pretty much always, I
have to say that I love Nicaraguans. There's just something about them
that is so open and endearing. Lately I've taken to just calling them
out on their lies, and they've been responding much more positively than
I thought. "Listen, hermano, you're not making promises with us, you're
making promises with God." Or, "Just be sincere. If you're not going to
go, I would rather know now than be disappointed Sunday morning." They
usually pause for a second, like a three year old does after he's caught
telling a lie to his mom, and then admit, "Yeah . . . you're right. I
can't come this Sunday. Sorry, I'll go next week." And even though that
is also a lie, we're making progress.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They
also have weird ideas about certain things, such as feet washing.
Everyday we come home after walking all day in the sand and dirt, and
our feet are gross. Understandably, I have desires to wash mine. Hna.
Lopez doesn't say anything, but Hna. Gonzales used to get legitimately
mad at me because she says I'm ruining my feet. She told me one time,
"You can wash your feet if you want to die," haha. I think it has to do
with something like our feet are hot and the water is cold, and that
could be potentially problematic? But I just think it's hilarious. Feet
washing feet = death. Well, that escalated quickly.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Phew.
I have everything to tell you and not enough time. First things first,
we had a baptism this week. Super awesome, hilarious woman named Reina
(which means "Queen" in Spanish, which totally matches her personality),
who has been taught by various pairs of missionaries for years. Her son
is actually on a mission in Bolivia right now, and although she
supported him, she wanted nothing to do with the Church. Turns out,
though, that the most recent set of hermanas have never even tried
inviting her to baptized! So my very first lesson with her I did, and
she said yes! It was awesome. She's already started inviting less
actives and her neighbors to church, too, and has been reading from the
Book of Mormon every night since her son left. Super pilas.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What
else? had a family night last Monday playing soccer on the beach, which
was awesome. And oh, yeah, we've now had four more earthquakes. Some
of them have been pretty big, rocking the entire house back and forth,
and there has been some minor house damage in Managua, but.. I'm just
not that worried about it. We're fine and we're being protected. The
only funny/exasperating thing is that the Nicas are all freaking out
that the end of the world has come. But, instead of finding that as a
reason to go to Church and get closer to God, they are apparently "too
anxious" and choose instead to stay in their houses and drink. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hope the end of the world isn't any time soon, because Corinto isn't anywhere close to being ready.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
To
be totally honest on account of Corinto's lack of initiative I think I
hit rock bottom of my mission last week. I felt like I left the city of
Leon to enter into the wilderness, and all of the elements were against
us. There are over 600 members in Corinto, and of those 600, only 50
were in church this past Sunday. Half of the bishopric weren't at Church
because they went fishing, and all five of the families that promised
they would go didn't come. I just felt . . . overwhelmed. I think it
might have been the first time in my mission when I honestly thought
that maybe it would be easier to just go home. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But
then I thought about my family motto (cue the cheesy violin music):
"Behans never quit." I've been sent here to have success, not to fail.
It would be very easy to adopt the attitude of all of the members here,
including that of the Bishop, that there is just so much to be done that
we can't do anything. But I've never been the quitting type, and, as a
Behan, I don't plan to start now. Instead of wallowing in my negativity
and sweat (because it seriously it just so dang hot here), I decided to
get to work. I can easily say I have never worked this hard in my entire
life. Hna. Lopez and I are fighting for Corinto. We don't rest. Every
single day, we leave the house determined to find those who are chosen,
activate those who have fallen away, and animate those who are
depressed, and we come home everyday with an exhaustion I've never
experienced before. I feel like we're just two really frenzied ants
caught in a maze of rocks that don't want to be moved. But we're making
plans, and we're going to do this. We're in the wilderness, but, like
Nephi, we're going to "Go and do."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I
was thinking the other day that if my mission was just sunshine and
daisies and everyone jumping into the baptismal font it would be great,
but what would I be learning, really? Every trying moment in my life has
proved to be for my personal betterment (betterment. Is that a word?),
and I know that this is no exception. I've got a lot to learn here. I
learned this past week that I can't do this alone. Two people can't
fight against 600 and win. But 2 people and God can do anything. Corinto
is not lost.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, it's miserably
hot, and there are earthquakes, and it's not easy.. but no one ever told
me my mission would be easy, they just told me it would be worth it.
And it will be, and is.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Even so
will I be your light in the wilderness, and I will prepare the way
before you. . ." I'm learning more to trust in God than ever before, and
I'm going to survive my 6 months in Corinto. In fact, I'm determined to
love it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Keep me in your prayers. You're all certainly in mine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hna. "Hermosa" Behan</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
p.s. I am SO tan. It's not real. and the parts of me that aren't tan are SO white. Gah. why.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-11880977996102777572014-04-14T07:56:00.002-07:002014-04-14T07:56:34.280-07:00Tsunami? 7 April 2014<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
¡Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
First P-Day in Corinto. A cruise ship pulled in today so we just kind of walked around and laughed at all of the tourists who were bumping into each other and taking pictures. I wish that they weren't so blatantly stereotypical, but they were. Several American men with pot bellies strutting around saying loudly in English, "We want BEER! and COLD!" and tiny little Asian men dressed in lime green pants and riding some sort of weird, modern looking bikes, covered from head to foot by clothing, including white bandanas attached to large sun hats to cover their faces (they kind of looked like futuristic Bee-keepers, haha). I think they'll probably be sunburned, but fingers crossed they make it out of Nicaragua okay.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I also ate half of a salad that I thought was full of pepper, but turned out to be ants. Awesome.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Kind of sad that of all the places they could visit in Nicaragua, they're only experiencing the central of Corinto, but whatever. Tourist away, my friends. And buy many cheap things that you think are from Nicaragua but which are all, in fact, imported from Guatemala.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You guys. It is so hot here. But seriously, SO HOT HERE. Everyone told me Corinto was the hottest place in Nicaragua, and I don't think I believed them because Leon is only an hour away and is an inferno in itself. BUT NO. THEY WERE ALL RIGHT AND I'M GOING TO DIE. I don't even know how it is so miserably, incredibly, horribly hot here, but I wake up every morning sweating. I almost can't even fall asleep it's so hot, and I have a fan literally five inches from my face.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We also don't have running water here, which is cool. Turns out the last three weeks of water bottle showers left me well prepared for Corinto. In case you were wondering, two buckets of water is sufficient to bathe. I feel like I'm preparing myself for a life of extreme camping, haha. I decided I'm going on a road trip to the Redwood Forest in California post-mish, actually, so all who would like to join me are welcome.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We have a giant yellow bucket that we fill up at night when there's water, and that's that. The woman who does our laundry only has a well, so we stop by and help her draw out water for that when we can. It's hard work. And really hot. Did I mention that it is really hot? And humid? And gross and miserable and terrible? Why. Whyyyyyyyyyy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, as expected, we live right on the beach. I've decided that Chinandege is like the more rural, rustic armpit of Leon, and Corinto is like the glistening dab of deodorant on that armpit. And yes, I did just make that analogy. The roads in outskirts of of town are made of sand, and the buildings are all brightly colored and beachy and surrounded by palm trees. The main form of travel is via triciculo, which is just half of a bike welded to a cart with two benches and covered by a metal canopy decorated by blankets or sheets or whatever the triciculist chooses to use and costs 7 cordobas (about thirty cents). Was that a run-on sentence? Yes. Yes, it was. Our area is HUGE (it used to be two areas but they recently closed one and combined the two), and it's honestly kind of overwhelming. I feel like we're just running around from one side to the other, and when I get home every night I'm completely swamped. I haven't even had time to unpack yet, and I have now officially been here a week. We also have 35 recent converts, and of those 38, only 5 are active . . . so, we definitely have our work cut out for us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As for the Bishop here, I will only say that "if you have nothing nice to say, you should say nothing at all" applies. He almost didn't provide transportation to Conference, and we live 40 minutes from the Stake center in Chinandega. It's a headache, but we'll just work around him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Despite the awful, miserable heat, I love living so close to the beach. The woman who makes our lunch, Ana Rosa, lives in a tiny little house made of rusted tin and plywood right in front of the ocean, so we sit outside and enjoy a marvelous view. It's so . . . tranquil, here. Almost too tranquil. The majority of people either own triciculos or only have work when ships pull into port, which is only every 15 days or so. So, finding people in their home's isn't a problem, because the majority just chill out in their hammocks all day, and I'm not exaggerating. Convincing them to come to church, however, is the same story as Leon, which is the nice way of saying that they're all liars and I don't trust any of them and if I hear the words, "Voy a hacer todo lo posible," "vamos a ver," or "si Dios quiere," one more time, I might just go a bit crazy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My first night here, there was supposedly a huge earthquake in Chile that was expected to cause a tsunami close to the coasts of Nicaragua, and it was predicted to hit at 12 am. So, that was a lovely "welcome to Corinto!" "Hey, welcome to Corinto! At midnight we might all be washed away by a giant wave, but in the meantime, here's a mango!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Didn't happen, and I didn't die. So, breathe, mom. But in the event that there is a natural disaster, adios, amigos.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Tsunamis and heat aside, however, I love it here. The sun melting into the ocean's horizon, cool ocean breeze wafting through the streets . . . the moon and stars reflected on dark, choppy waves. The houses are much more humble here than they were in Leon, the majority hand-made by their inhabitants by random pieces of ply wood and tarp and sheet metal. Because many of the houses are on the beach, the floors are made up of sand instead of dirt. I suppose there isn't too big of a difference, but it's more welcoming somehow. Corinto is exactly what every kid dreams of when they think about going on a mission. I especially love the night time here, because everything is just so . . . peaceful. There's just a really profound silence . . less houses/street lights so the stars shine even more brightly and if we hear anything at all it's the sound of our feet padding on the sand and the waves crashing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love my new companion. Her name is Hna. Lopez and she is the most chill person on the planet. I seriously don't think we'll ever have problems, because she never gets upset about everything. Just really . . . relaxed. And patient. Doesn't talk too much, but when she does it's to say something really important or profound, and she is secretly hilarious. Really dry sense of humor which I love. I should probably be sad that I left Hna. Gonzalez, but I've gotta be honest . . . as much as I really do love her, I was more than ready to leave her, haha. I'm a terrible mother.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There's too much to say so I'll just save it for next week. But in short, Patricia's baptism was beautiful, and seeing Roger all dressed up in white to baptize her was one of the most special moments of my mission. Luis finished reading all of the Book of Mormon before I left, and Rosita, Luis, and Patri came and visited me this weekend to watch General Conference. It was such a fun surprise and I love all of them so much. It was, and still is, hard not being in Leon, but I know I'll be okay. I might not have had as many baptisms as some, but I am content to know that the ones I have had are active and converted. Being here, with 35 people who are supposedly recently baptized and now inactive, I've realized what kind of missionary I want to be . . . and it isn't like those who came before me. I'm not here just to baptize, I'm here to teach people that are going to stay. Lift up the hands that hang helplessly down and run around from one side of my area to the other every single day doing everything I can to make a difference here. I won't be able to bring them all back, but if I can leave with better results than I came into, I'll be content.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Conference was amazing. I love that we have a Prophet of God directing the church and 12 apostles today. It's always been the form of Christ's church, and it always will be. If I leave Nicaragua without a single convert, I have certainly converted myself.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Love you all! Make a salad and think of me. But easy on the ants, they're not as tasty as you think.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hna. Behan</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-22763835695585811192014-04-14T07:51:00.004-07:002014-04-14T07:51:42.085-07:00Starfish and Streetlights: 31 March 2014<div dir="ltr">
¡Hola familia y amigos!<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This email is going to be really long. So, prepare yourselves.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Actually, all of my letters are long, so, it won't really be that different for you. Anyway. Moving on.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There. Is. So. Much. Dust. Here. Right. Now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I swept three times in our house yesterday, and when I woke up this morning, there was so much dust my flip flops left <i>footprints </i>on the floor. It's disgusting. And we live on the third floor with a less than effective ceiling (yeah . . . we might as well just take the ceiling off all together. Make it easier for our pet pigeons to enter), so it's even worse. Renewed respect for those who survived the Dust Bowl, that is for sure.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also, I ate shark this week! It was a baby shark, too. :( I know, I'm a terrible person. But it was actually really good (just kind of a more lean fish), and I would eat it again. I have no idea how Iris (the lovely woman who makes our food) was able to bring us a shark (I told her I wanted to try it . . . and it might just be illegal in Guatemala . . .), but who's asking questions?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Those two paragraphs were completely inundated with parentheses. Not even sorry about it.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But let's just get to the good stuff, shall we? TRANSFERS. We knew this day would come . . . the day I would leave the place of my birth, the beloved Leon, and leave for other adventures in the lovely land of Nicaragua . . . drum roll, please . . . (Ahem), I'm going to CORINTO!!! Every single person I know who has served there has absolutely <i>loved </i>it. It's not actually that far away from Leon and it's actually part of the Zone in Chinandega (ha, no surprise there. I knew I would be going to Chinandega in one form or other), but if I had to go to Chinandega, this would have been the area I would have chosen. It's literally right on the beach and is apart from the city, and we get to eat lunch every day overlooking the ocean. The Chapel is only two blocks away from the Pacific, and for scripture study in the morning, you can just go outside and sit in the sand and read. Does that even sound real??? Apparently the people there are all super relaxed and positive and happy, and Chinandega as a Zone baptized five families this last month. It's also apparently hotter, and I'm going to die. But apart from that fact, I'm ready to go. I know how to work, I'm going to work, and even though I don't know who Hermana Lopez is (my new companion), she doesn't have a choice, we're going to be awesome and "hechar fuego," as they say here ("throw fire").</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Leaving Leon I have too many thoughts to even write here, but I'll mention a few of them. Including the miracle we had this week (my mission is one of miracles, as I'm finding).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't believe in coincidences, but I do believe in God's hand in our lives. Three nights ago we happened to run into Roger and Patricia (his fiance--he opted to get married instead of a mission. Bummer, but they're awesome together so I'm not too sad about it) in the street walking back from a lesson that fell through. We were halfway covered in shadow and halfway dimly illuminated by the artificial butter-yellow of the street lights above our heads. Rosita proposed that we share a scripture together before parting ways, so we all sat down on the street corner and began to read together and talk.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Well, lessons with Roger are never just "lessons," and this was no exception. We talked about Roger, and the change he's had since his baptism, and their impending marriage on April 12th . . . and about being sealed for eternity in the temple. And hearing Patricia say (yes, the same Patricia who was angry at Roger for being baptized into a church that was "worse than she thought,"), "I have felt more happiness in the time that I have visited your church than I have my entire life as a Catholic," I felt prompted to invite her to be baptized. And wouldn't you know it, but she said yes. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My invitation was for the 18th of April, the week after the wedding, but Rosita shut that idea down right away and said, "No. She's ready to be baptized this Monday." We were all silent and I'm pretty sure Roger was about to have a heart attack (because this is what he's always wanted but never thought would happen), and then she agreed to that, as well. I really love Patricia and I feel like I was put here just to meet her. She is getting baptized today at 6 o'clock so I can be there before I leave tomorrow for Corinto.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's crazy little moments like that that make the mission worth it. Sitting on a street corner talking about eternity. I can't even take the credit for the miracle baptism we'll be having today, because it was all Rosita. I haven't really done her justice in my emails, to be honest. Saying goodbye to her will be one of the hardest goodbyes I have ever had. She's kind of like . . . a pineapple. Not really the affectionate type, sassy and sharp tongued and kind of prickly in personality, but then you earn her trust and get to know her and she's one of the sweetest, most genuine and loving people you've ever met. To be honest I don't know that I would have loved Leon as much as I did if it wasn't for Rosita. She's practically been serving another 6 month mini mission with us because she literally goes out teaching with us every single day (I feel like she's been my companion since day one). It was hard saying goodbye to Najarro, but saying goodbye to Rosita will be. . .heartbreaking. After an entire day together yesterday, I just had to hug her close and she hugged me back. I believe I said, "Eso es tan injusto." It almost isn't fair. It isn't fair to be able to love someone so much knowing full well that you have to leave them behind. Move on. Keep living.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sitting on a park bench in Guadalupe with Rosita or walking down a long dusty road under the stars, talking about our lives and families and the heavens and God are moments I can never forget. I pinky swore that I would come back one day, and I have every intention of doing so. Rosita is one of those people I feel like I knew before this life, and who I know I will know after.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Looking at her yesterday after our final day of working together, I tried to imagine what it will be like when we're both old . . . our kids growing up, involved in our lives. Will I even talk to Rosita anymore? The truth is I don't know. But those moments when we are young and connect with someone on a level that is so beyond the superficial . . . those are the moments that make us immortal. And I, or a version of me, the ghost of me, perhaps, will always be sitting cross-legged on a street corner in Leon, sitting with the girl who made Leon beautiful and welcoming to me, and the boy me made me feel that I wasn't a failure as a missionary . . . whose soon to be wife accepted and loved me as easily as he did. A part of me will never leave that street corner.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As a military brat, I've had my fair share of goodbyes, but not even one of them will compare to how hard it will be to say goodbye to the people here in Leon.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
More than anything I find I can't wait for heaven. I'm in no rush to die . . . I just know that it will be so much more than my finite mind can even imagine. You know that feeling you get when you see someone you haven't seen in years? The happiness you feel and the sudden surge of joyful memories that flood your mind? I think heaven will be that feeling, but without an ending. It almost scares me, to be honest, but I do not know who I am. I don't mean Cara Behan the person or Hermana Behan the missionary. I mean <u>me</u>. This soul who existed before this life and fought to be here. Who did I know? what was I like? What did I want and yearn for and expect from my time on earth? When we die and the veil is lifted, just how shocking will it be to us to discover all of the things about ourselves that we've always been but never known?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The truth is, we can never afford to depreciate the price of a human soul, ours or someone else's. It doesn't matter if they live in a mansion or inside four pegs of wood and tarp, they're all our brothers and sisters, who fought to be here as much as we did. I'm reminded of the story of a man walking along the beach (ha, the beach, where I'm going. See what I did there?), throwing starfish back into the ocean. After high tide, thousands of starfish were left strewn on the sand, and most would die (drying out or picked up by seagulls), if not put into contact with the ocean water again. Another man, after watching the man throwing starfish back into the sea patiently and methodically for a few hours, approached him and said, "Why do you bother? There are so many starfish here that you're not even making a difference." The other man paused, bent down, and threw another starfish back into the sea. "It made a difference to that one."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes I feel like I'm just throwing starfish. I don't know even 1/3 of the people who live in Leon, and not even the tiniest fraction of the people who live in this world. In the grand scheme of things, I can do very little and am no one. But if I have the chance to save even 3 or 4 "starfish" in this life . . . it's worth it. It's not a world-changing impact, but it's an impact all the same. And maybe if we all decided that the little efforts that we make in this to do good are worth it we would see a grand change in the world at large.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This work is urgent. The seagulls are on the prowl and the sun is merciless . . . and if we aren't making the effort to save our brothers and sisters who are in our own little circles of life and tide pools . . . who will?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I have miles to run and things to see and do and people to meet and sharks to eat. And at the end of it all, I'll be sitting on a tiny little airplane leaving Nicaragua . . . and coming back home and leaving home at the same time. In the meantime, I'm going to keep patiently and methodically trying to make a difference.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today I say goodbye to Roger and Patricia and Rosita and Iris, but in the end, any goodbye we have is just a "see you later" for eternity. Or that's how I'm choosing to look at it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero a todos. Do something this week to make a difference in someone else's life, won't you?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hna. Caribbean (another beach reference. See what I did there?)</div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-22168482992578000902014-03-27T07:28:00.000-07:002014-03-27T07:28:07.136-07:00Viva la Vida: 24 March 2014<div dir="ltr">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/QvkD1_Zr9vY4Z3RwdHcCaDsSyJvuhVcoHO8dI7wQptEmzslyZOZQRgHDQA-5WO2mStK9K2KksLPpqyhMoKZNvOs=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/QvkD1_Zr9vY4Z3RwdHcCaDsSyJvuhVcoHO8dI7wQptEmzslyZOZQRgHDQA-5WO2mStK9K2KksLPpqyhMoKZNvOs=s400" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
¡Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Viva la Vida is a Coldplay song, but it also means "Live Life." I'm not trying to sound like an American Eagle commercial when I say that we really do have the ability to just go out and live our lives, but we really do. Sometimes I feel like we tether ourselves down with unnecessary boundaries.. an ever growing list of "What if's" and "if-onlys" and etc etc etc..but they're mental. Take them off, untie them, and throw them on the ground <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gAYL5H46QnQ">Andy Sandberg style</a>. And then run and do the thing you've always wanted to do but have never done.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also, the song Viva la Vida mentions missionaries in a foreign land = me = winning. I really do love being a missionary. If you can't tell from my emails, I'm telling you now. These last 6 months have been some of the hardest, best, most rewarding and wonderful months of my life.</div>
<div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/kz3A_70udlNLmtu-YIwpFXTKFabDkDJCJ_YP5y6kTp157lk5yYRUY4B-2_-nvxEM3L1qq9kR9MnKPrcfwv6WTz0=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/kz3A_70udlNLmtu-YIwpFXTKFabDkDJCJ_YP5y6kTp157lk5yYRUY4B-2_-nvxEM3L1qq9kR9MnKPrcfwv6WTz0=s400" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/HSA-_Jp5MpuUZS0F-MtfwTEY_G0cGHBAqzwWiKuSC9fay0QXJ8GKKl68PJgRnqSU8QGm8ojeD2GRfB8jmKjedCU=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/HSA-_Jp5MpuUZS0F-MtfwTEY_G0cGHBAqzwWiKuSC9fay0QXJ8GKKl68PJgRnqSU8QGm8ojeD2GRfB8jmKjedCU=s400" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I found this quote in my journal the other day from the wonder F. Scott Fitzgerald that expresses pretty well how I'm feeling:<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"For what it's worth: it's never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There's no time limit, stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same, there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you're proud of. If you find that you're not, I hope you have the stength to start all over again." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Echoed by Ralph Waldo Emerson's, "The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be."</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It has been a lovely, lovely week, one in which I feel like I'm finally living my life as the person I've always wanted to be. I've got a long way to go...but I just feel...invigorated. I'm excited for tomorrow, I loved today, and I don't regret my yesterdays. There's always more to do and more I could be doing and seeing and feeling, but I'm not looking back. Bring on the future. (Makes me think of watching "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure" with my Dad, haha.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
To be completely honest I had an entire list of things I wanted to write, but then I left the list at home and I'm feeling lazy. So I'm going to share with you all my trial of faith of the week, and we're going to call it a day. And I promise that next Monday will be tuanis (Or tuani. I don't know which it is. Nicas don't pronounces their "s"s so I may never know.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As you know, Sunday mornings are the worst. This Sunday was no exception, except for the fact that I was determined to bring a family to church. And when I say determined, I mean, I did literally every single thing I could think of to bring families to church. We found 5 new families last week alone, we had 21 lessons with members this past week, we had more than 6 families promise they would go and about five other possibilities, and Saturday, we had a game plan. Pass by for every one of them, with members, and make sure they were still good to go. If they weren't home, leave a note and send a text. We fasted, too, for extra measure. By the end of Saturday night, I was feeling tired but content: we did it all. There was not one single other thing we could have done.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sunday morning we woke up at 5:30, got ready, and left the house to pass by for everyone to make sure they were getting ready and good to go. One by one, something came up. Two families in the hospital, others that left town, and others that just didn't answer. We waited another hour to hear from the members who would pass by, and their results were equally as disappointing. By the end of it, there was not one single family who was going to go. My thoughts were just kind of....numb. "Really? Again? Is this going to be the pattern of my entire mission?" but, I couldn't cry. Not again. I did my part, and that was that. We walked to church alone.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sitting in the pews feeling sufficiently useless, we waited for the meeting to start (The Bishop has a tendency of being 15 minutes late. If you think our home ward is bad... it isn't, haha. The Nicaraguans win in the realm of Mormon Standard Time), and suddenly, Hna. Gonzales got out of her chair and ran to the door. I followed, naturally (kind of tethered to her, ball and chain), and couldn't believe it. A family came, one who we hadn't even passed by for or even had the chance to talk to that week, and several other investigators showed up as well. There names are Dina and Ramiro, they're a darling young couple who have been searching for a Church for a long time, and they accepted a baptismal date for the 5th of April last night. We now have two progressing families, and possibilities for more in the future.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I could have sang I was so happy. I have such a huge testimony of fasting. When we do our part...He will deliver. It was a ridiculously long trial of my faith (seriously though, two very depressing Sundays in a row), but it was worth it. It was, in my book, anyway, a miracle.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Even though the Bishop announced over the pulpit last minute that I would be speaking (I never imagined I would have to give a talk last minute in Spanish, but it went great), it was one of my favorite Sundays of my mission. And a testament to me that if we just keep on working, we'll find success. That's been the pattern in my life, anyway.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I feel like I finally get how to be a missionary. I've spent the last 12 weeks with Hna. Gonzales really figuring myself out and who it is exactly that I want to be, but little by little, I'm getting there. I feel like I was born to be a missionary. We have so many families that we're teaching right now (15 last week), I'm almost overwhelmed by success. The field is white and ready to harvest, and we're going to go and do. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I also get the feeling that we won't see any more baptisms this change...they will all be the next change. I have the sinking pre-sentiment that I won't be here to see any of them, but I suppose that doesn't really matter so much. I would so love to be there, to see Susana and Pablo, Dina and Ramiro, Henningston and Cristal, and Nady and Javier be baptized... and more that are to come. If I don't get to see even one, it'll be enough to hear about it in the future. I might not see the fruits of my labors, but I hope, at the very least, to hear about them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
To be honest, I would give anything to be here just one more change and see that happen. I feel like I have more to do..more to give.. but maybe that's how everyone feels when they leave their first area. It's interesting, because I never imagined I would want to stay in the same area for 6 months, and now here I am and it's not long enough. No one told me how much I would really, truly love the people here, but I really do. I will never forget about them.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, I love you and I'm praying for you, as always. Wish a happy birthday to my brother James! He turns 6 tomorrow. :)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Be excellent to each other. And party on, dudes. (both quotes from the aforementioned movie, if you didn't catch that reference).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Adio a la do,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hna. Caribbean</div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-36889465463283726102014-03-20T17:58:00.003-07:002014-03-27T07:20:18.421-07:00Suitcase Heart: 17 March 2014<div dir="ltr">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/tlH6Dxl8F3kUuhjV3P4Ll-x3piHkxMOIubnjqC7iizYKGyxBTPtJJP8SZgr3efRD-Bca-ON1RYHCa-AdlKQBZu8=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/tlH6Dxl8F3kUuhjV3P4Ll-x3piHkxMOIubnjqC7iizYKGyxBTPtJJP8SZgr3efRD-Bca-ON1RYHCa-AdlKQBZu8=s400" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="gmail_quote">
¡Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<div dir="ltr">
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They fumigated all of Fundeci (the apartment complex we live in) this week, which means our house is basically just a graveyard for cockroaches. I wonder how many times I've used the word "cockroach" in my emails. Far too many. Someone should count and tell me.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Today was one of those picturesque days that you wish you could just live in forever. We spent the day waking up (still at 5:30, shoot me now), studying, and then taking a glorious cat nap. Following that, we went for Papaya milkshakes in front of the Merced (one of the four beautiful churches marking the Central of Leon), and then to the Mexicanita to enjoy some rather delicious quesadillas. And then we were able to climb onto the newly painted part of the Cathedral of Leon with our good friend Nicole, and had fun running on top of the snow white domes and getting the soles of our bare feet covered in chalky paint and soaking up the sun (pictures to come soon).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/n5JUSXcTCWNqu7sosVOUzUnXVVhEijk4aiFHqrHb6Iiy2LqGInNqusKvHeLLvoLP1meTZhJrP8OL3Ls8U4gM0w0=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/n5JUSXcTCWNqu7sosVOUzUnXVVhEijk4aiFHqrHb6Iiy2LqGInNqusKvHeLLvoLP1meTZhJrP8OL3Ls8U4gM0w0=s400" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
They didn't even charge me three times more for the price of one ticket to climb up this time, because I have my Cedula and am officially a Nica for the next year. Ha. I wish you could have seen the look of frustration on the woman's face when she realized she couldn't gyp me again. We found out later that there was apparently a level 5 earthquake while we were standing on the tippy top, too, but we didn't feel anything. I guess if I had to choose a way to die falling off of a Cathedral would be pretty cool. Didn't die, though. I'm more likely to die from an overdose of rice.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, not a whole lot to report this week, other than the fact that I think I was legitimately depressed this Sunday. We had two huge conferences for all of the stakes of Leon, and the chance to invite families for Saturday and Sunday to be able to baptized before the end of this change. My hopes were so high. Maybe too high, honestly, and we had more than seven families who promised that they would go. And you know what's heartbreaking? When you really, truly believe and expect something to happen, and then it doesn't. Every other companionship in the Zone brought at least one family to the conference, and as I'm sure you've guessed by now, we brought no one. No one. Not even one single person would come with us. Saturday was hard enough, waiting for them to show up and then realizing they wouldn't, and Sunday was just...the worst. New lowest point of my mission right there. We passed by for more than 10 different families, and one by one were told that "something had come up," or they weren't home, or "I have to make soup," or what have you (three of the excuses were "I have to make soup," for some reason, haha. Who even wants to eat soup when it's more than 100 degrees outside??). We passed by for some of them twice. First to wake up them up and have them confirm that they were going, and then later to find out that they had then no intention of going whatsoever. By the end of the morning and realizing that we wouldn't even be able to bring anyone, after having practically begged some people, I lost it. I felt so...deceived. We had one last family who said they would come, and they didn't come, either.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I think more than anything it made me appreciate even more fully the Atonement of Christ, and how He has descended even lower than our lowest of moments. Although it wasn't exactly ideal, I'm weirdly grateful for how I felt yesterday. I feel like I was permitted to understand just a little bit more of how He feels, when he hopes and expects us to do certain things or be a certain way and then we don't or aren't, because let's be honest, we've all had moments in life when we go a different path and decide to make soup. I know in our lowest moments He's there, and sitting alone with Hna. Gonzales in the conference room surrounded by empty chairs that we were pointlessly saving, I know that He was conscious of the desires of our hearts and how we were feeling. Sometimes He loves us enough to let us understand and rely on Him just a little bit more than we were before . . . because honestly, without Him, I know that I can do nothing.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was a low day, and I think I easily could have resigned myself to just staying low in my thoughts for the rest of the night, but . . . I'm on a mission, and, unfortunately, "wallowing in self pity" is not on the list of things we're permitted to do. So, we set out to work. And I can now say that I have a testimony of the scripture in Ether 12:6, that says " . . . . I would show unto the world that faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith." That night we were able to find two new very positive families, one of which accepted a baptismal date after only talking with them for five minutes in the street. I don't know what will happen this Sunday, but I'm hopeful. I'm living in the trial of my faith, but things are looking up. I'm just trying more than ever to forget myself and go to work. Matthew 16:25, "For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it." I'm in the finding process. It isn't easy, but I know that I'm being blessed 100 times more than any "sacrifice" I might be undergoing. The same goes for all of you. Those moments we're trying to do good even when all of the elements are against us are the moments we're walking shoulder to shoulder with the greatest and most perfect missionary there ever was, and I don't mean me (haha). I cannot ever work hard enough to express the love I have for my Savior.</div>
<div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/8qkX1zkfYO1d1QkXwNZ_lNK5-5S6RI1woOwEciCzMgo1Q-qg7RtmDxtsIMqK-Ebp1g6VQSnIAa567V2Mc1IqNo4=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/8qkX1zkfYO1d1QkXwNZ_lNK5-5S6RI1woOwEciCzMgo1Q-qg7RtmDxtsIMqK-Ebp1g6VQSnIAa567V2Mc1IqNo4=s400" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A few days ago I was thinking a lot about my suitcase, and how I've been living out of it for almost a year now . . . which led me to think about traveling in general and how great and terrible it is at the same time. The interesting thing about traveling is that you come to a new place expecting to see/experience new things and take them away..but what I'm finding is that rather than taking away, I've been leaving behind. I can never be this girl again. This tanned, sweaty, happy missionary girl, weaving her way from house to house in the dusty, sunny streets of Nicaragua. I can't be in Germany, brushing my hand against the Neuschwanstein Castle for the first time (literally a dream come true), or lost in a quiet wood in the Forest of Dean in England, or tromping through the mud in rainy Scotland. I can't be the little girl hiding in her closet reading books into the late hours of the night, or sneaking out onto the trampoline to talk late into the morning hours with a close friend. I can't be the girl laying on the floor laughing with her friends in a college dorm, procrastinating 12 page papers and going on 7-11 slurpee runs. I can't be that same girl, and I am her, too. It's a divide that's hard to reconcile.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What do you do, when you have to leave a place or time that you truly loved? You just have to move on like nothing happened, mentioning it on occasion, when the truth is that <i>everything </i>happened. You being <i>you </i>happened. But you can never quite explain it nor can you hide it or change it . . . you just leave it behind and carry the parts you can with you locked in memories and imagery and feelings in your heart, always with the half-secret hushed desire/expectation of coming back and reliving it someday, while simultaneously accepting that doing so would be impossible. You're different, the place is different . . . roads once familiar take on an alien feel..and you're left with no other choice but to revel for a moment in that fleeting, comforting feeling of finding something lost, and then intentionally losing again. Traveling is about losing just as much as it is finding.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Changes are in two weeks, and I must admit I've lost my psychic powers. I have no idea what's going to happen anymore. There's a rumor that I'll be staying here with Gonzales for another transfer (which would make sense . . . isn't it always that when you get along super well with a companion you're never with them long enough, and when it's more of a struggle it's longer?), and I don't know what to think about it. I'm going to pack up my suitcase, spend a final day with Rosita and Roger and Nicole and Hermana Johana and Nady and Luis and Iris and the accruing number of people I know and love, and then I'll say goodbye to them. Knowing full well that I will probably never be a missionary in Leon with them ever again. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Jacob 7:26: ". . .the time passed away with us, and also our lives passed away like as it were unto us a dream. . ." This week passed by so quickly I couldn't even believe it . . . and sometimes I feel like my entire life is just passing by so quickly I can't even believe it. Isn't there some sort of pause button somewhere?? Geeze. I can't seem to catch up! Most of the time I'm just really grateful that my thoughts are not God's thoughts, because if they were, the world would stop functioning, haha.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I wish I had something hilarious to tell you, but I must admit I'm just feeling kinda...drained. Happy, but tired. Heading to Managua for a Training meeting tomorrow so we'll be waking up at 4:30..oh joy. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Love you all! The Church is true,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hna. Behan</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/6H4Ce8cL2j6dlGfnauG5-bs0cGL5LCTw_qZ4SdBvDslDz7rDkGOv8RM3RYsf2Dij0ygGtCX2r-Wk5rWyFjanbAk=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/6H4Ce8cL2j6dlGfnauG5-bs0cGL5LCTw_qZ4SdBvDslDz7rDkGOv8RM3RYsf2Dij0ygGtCX2r-Wk5rWyFjanbAk=s400" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-448926139609797092014-03-15T09:51:00.001-07:002014-03-15T09:54:50.017-07:00Walking on Water: 10 March 2014<div dir="ltr">
¡Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So I thought it couldn't get any hotter here, and then it did. If I die here, just know that I love all of you. And that you won't really have to miss me because you can just google Justo Llamas and remember me in the version of my ugly Argentinan Doppleganger self. He sings and everything.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also, to celebrate my official 6 months in the mission (wooooo!!) we went to a French bakery called "Pan y Paz" (or "Bread and Peace") last Monday, and it was sinfully delicious. A double chocolate mousse for dessert (dessert first, naturally) followed by a goat cheese sandwich on crisp freshly baked french bread. Worth the calories. If anyone is coming to pick me up in Nicaragua post-mish, we're going there. We're also going to drink Papaya Milkshakes, because they too are delicious and I tried my first one today. Or maybe we drank two.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Fat for life.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes I think I'm being clever and then I read the email that I sent the week before and I don't understand what I was thinking. Like the words "maks", for example. Not sure what a "maks" is, but I used the word twice. [editor's note: I corrected this last week.] It's fine . . . everyone can just have creative license with what I might have been intending to say and go from there.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We named the pigeons that are now officially living inside of our house Laman and Lemuel (Book of Mormon reference), because they are always murmuring and contending one with another. But then Laman and Lemuel built a nest with little eggs . . . and I'm not quite sure what to say about it. Clearly, one of the two of Laman or Lemuel is a girl, or . . . well, engaging in a rather inappropriate relationship. Lemuel y Lamanqua maybe. Lamania? Lemuelshka? Lemuelkwisha? Let me know if you come up with something better. But it is just so adorable the way I wake up to them shrieking above my head at 3 in the morning. I love it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Why are there even pigeons in the world, anyway? Or lice or mosquitos. Or cockroaches. Especially cockroaches. It is my personal opinion that Noah did not intentionally bring them on the ark, but the creeps snuck their own way in. There probably wasn't just two, either. If there's anything I've learned here from living in Nicaragua, it's that there's never just one cockroach. When one is seen . . . many follow.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Has anyone ever thought about the logisitics of Noah's Ark? I feel like being on a ship with a bunch of zoo animals would be a miserable, hot, smelly experience. And wouldn't he have had to bring more than just two of everything? What did the carnivores eat? How big was this ship, anyway? It also makes me think of one my favorite books, "Life of Pi." If you haven't read it, please do.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm rambling today because I once again didn't have time to write in my journal this week and it's just really hot in this cyber and I'm getting kinda tired of the whole waking up at 5:30 thing. Still waiting on everyone else in the zone to complete President's goal of having a certain number of lessons with members and finding new families we teach. We have now doubled the goal and are looking at tripling it this week. It's been kind of a miracle cambio, to be honest, even though I haven't seen the fruits of our labors just yet. My goal to baptize every week hasn't happened, but, if we keep working hard, we could potentially baptize four families the end of this cambio (March 31st. Aaahh! I feel like I'll be moving areas, but who knows?).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I think more than anything I'm at the point where I feel like Peter right now, trying to walk on water but trying not to falter on faith. The scriptures summarize the experience better than I ever could. Allow me to quote from Matthew 14: 24-31:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves: for the wind was contrary. And in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea. And when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear. But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid. And Peter answered him and said, Lord, if it be thou, bid me come unto thee on the water. And he said, Come. And when Peter was come down out of the ship, he walked on the water, to go to Jesus. But when he saw the wind boisterous, he was afraid; and beginning to sink, he cried, saying, Lord, save me. And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little afaith, wherefore didst thou doubt?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I feel like this at the present moment. We really could see miracles this change, and I feel like I have so many people beckoning me out onto the see, telling me to come. My District Leader, my Zone Leaders, my Mission President, God.. the invitation to just..believe. To have the faith. And here I am, walking here amidst all of the many trials and hardships and trying moments here, and I'm trying not to lose my faith and fall. To be completely honest with everyone, these last two changes with Hermana Gonzales have been great in the sense that I think I have learned more about myself in the last 8 weeks than I ever have in my entire life, as well as the most challenging and trying. I guess I thought by this point in our companionship she would be shouldering some of the weight and responsiblity of the work here, but so far it's just been a whole of me calling the shots and teaching and finding. I'm feeling...overwhelmed. Happy, but overwhelmed. If I am walking on water, I feel like I'm teetering.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I know that if I really can have the faith, I can do anything. I'm working on developing that faith, and keeping my eye on what Peter should have: that is, Jesus Christ. I don't know why he faltered. It might have been the waves lapping up against his feet, or the wind roaring against his ears, the shock of lightning on slick black water or a booming thunder overshadowing his thoughts and shaking his steps. For me, it might be rejection. It might be that no one wants to come to Church, or keep their promises, or pray. It might be the baking hot sun and the fatigue and the thirst. It might be that I miss everyone and have been feeling alone. It might be a lot of things. Peter fell, but I don't have to. I can keep my eye on Jesus Christ, who's arms are outstretched and beckoning me to come. He's beckoning all of us to come. I don't know what trials there are that you are facing in this life, but I would invite you to join me in this quest of pushing forward together. Keep focused on what matters, and have the faith to just keep walking. Even if we fall, I know He'll be there to help us up. Keep on keeping on, as they say.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love you all, and I know that faith really is a force for good and for miracles. A goal without action is just a dream. A goal with action is not just faith, it's power. If we have been called to do something in this life, especially with God's help, we can do it. I have a firm testimony of that. There are people in the world who are pure in heart, who do keep their promises and who hunger and thirst after righteousness. I will do my best to find them, and keep on smiling while I'm doing it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Have a lovely week and enjoy taking a nap in an air conditioned room for me, won't you?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-62809270538153836342014-03-13T19:09:00.003-07:002014-03-13T19:09:55.169-07:00Siete Oop: 3 March 2014<div dir="ltr">
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
¡Hola familia y amigos!</div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Siete
Oop is how my Nicaraguan friend pronounces 7Up. (In Spanish the letter
"U" is the "oo" sound.) I believe I mentioned this in a previous
email, but Pizza = Pixa and Pepsi = Pexi as well, haha. </div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Other
random Spanish fact: there are two forms to express the word
"you"--Usted (the formal version), and Tu (informal/personal). Here,
they use a different version, the "vos" form. It's pretty much just like
tu but maybe even a little bit more personal. I didn't pick up on it
until recently, but now I hear it all of the time. Not allowed to use it
(missionaries, ya know . . gotta use the more formal form), but there ya
go.<a name='more'></a></div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
So there was a huge earthquake two nights ago at <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_309379083" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">3 am</span></span>.
I'm a fairly light sleeper, and so at the start of the first few
vibrations/tremors, I was awake. But then my bed started rocking back and
forth and the fan fell down and I yelled out at Hna. G to wake up,
because she sleeps like the dead. I don't know what my thoughts were.
Not panic. Just kind of . . . "Well, we live on the 3rd floor of this
poorly built apartment building. Do we just stay here? Run outside?
Jump out of the window and scream?" Just as I was considering bolting
for the door, the earthquake stopped. And then all of the dogs in Leon
went crazy and everyone's lights came on and we got a bunch of text
messages asking if we were okay. Which we were. Hna. G fell asleep five
minutes after, in fact, and didn't wake up for the second round of
earthquake at <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_309379084" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">4 am</span></span>,
haha. I had a hard time falling asleep after everything went down, just
because we're in Central America and happen to live between several
very active volcanoes, which an earthquake could easily set off. But,
nothing happened, and my alarm went off at <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_309379085" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">5:30</span></span> and it was time to get up and study (our mission Pres. changed our schedule to <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_309379086" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ">5:30</span></span>
temporarily until every companionship in the Zone finds a new family to
bring to church. It's not too bad, I'm just always tired.). </div>
<div class="im">
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Also,
and I have now idea how, but the pigeons have someone found a way to
sneak into our house. It was a weird moment this morning. Stumble out
of my room on the way to the bathroom, notice the pigeon that is
casually perching on my desk, just chillin' . . . process the fact that
there is actually a pigeon sitting on my desk . . . pause, stare it down,
and it flies away somewhere in the ceiling. Still serious about the Nerf gun. Someone send me one.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Not
phased by cockroaches anymore. Or the gecko that lives in the hole
under our light switch. Or the colony of termites in my pencil case or
ants on my bed. My life is kind of like the scene in the movie
"Enchanted" when Amy Adams sings and all of the pigeons and cockroaches
and mice flock to her house and help her clean..except mine don't sing,
they just pester my life. Maybe I'll try singing to them.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Two main things I want to write about in this email: an artist and a doctor. </div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
</div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
First,
the artist. His name is Silvio, and he is one of my favorite people
that I've had the privilege of meeting here. How to describe him.. He's
probably in his 50s but his hair is jet black and he has an
Italian-Mario-style mustache and dark, wide set eyes, which never seem
to quite be focused on anything and give him the appearance that he's
always staring off into space, even when he's listening intently. He has
a thin, wiry build and a delicately shaped face and pointed chin, and
is almost never wearing a shirt. He makes papier-mache for a living, and
his house/workshop consists of shelves upon shelves filled with mini
Gigatonas (little Spanish dolls) he's made, masks with various
expressions and shapes (men, women, zebras, you name it) ranging from
life-size to small enough to fit into the palm of my hand. His table is
littered with newspaper scraps and paint brushes and Gerber baby food
jars filled with different paint colors, and bowls brimming with various
glues and adhesives and models covered in plastic bags to use for the
masks he makes. Everything about him is just . . .free. He's a free spirit
who loves what he does for a living. Everything he makes is made with
meticulous care, and he knows the history behind every new design he
creates. He's never set foot in a Church in his life but he reads the
Bible frequently and prays daily. He studied theater in Cuba for 3
years, which is always apparent from his theatrical renditions of the
scriptures we have him read. He likes theology and philosophy and is
really smart, and likes to speculate about things and discuss and dissect
them in detail. He writes and sings his own songs, too, and has
randomly broken out in song for us a few times. I've never taught or
met anyone like him. He's interested in learning about the Church, but
the approach of teaching is completely different that anyone other
lesson I've taught. He's the type of person who seems to just know who
you are by looking at you. </div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
After
meeting with him a few time, he told me that I have "ojos clinicas," or
perceiving/clinical eyes, and that when I look at someone, I can
actually <i>see </i>them for them, see beneath the surface and
understand them more. He asked me what I see in him . . . and afterwards told
me that he normally doesn't invite people into his home whom he doesn't
know, especially "religious" people on the prowl to indoctrinate anyone
who will listen. But that's not why we're here, and he can see that. He
told me that the eyes are the windows of the soul, the hardest part for
him to paint as well as his favorite part, and that mine have a
"brilla" or a glow/sparkle. It was one of those moments when two people
connect on a level beyond the superficial. I don't know, I can't
describe it. I just feel like Silvio was put into my path for a reason.<br />
</div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Now,
as to the doctor. Javier is Nady's husband (Nady being the lovely girl
who read the Book of Mormon in two weeks), and we had an experience
with him that was one of the most powerful on my mission. I've told you
that he's brilliant, and he is. But he's not closed off or conceited or
"too smart" for God. He and is wife are just . . .ready. It's Roger all
over again, but this time in the form of a family. So, we stopped by to
talk with Javier and Nady Saturday, and walking into the door, I really
had no idea what we should teach. We had a few things prepared, but in
the moment, none of them felt right to share. It was cool to see the
Spirit take over and teach for us. We had less than a set "lesson," I
think we mostly ended up talking about the power of prayer and the
things we need to do in this life to be able to stay with our families
for eternity, but it was a lesson I will never forget. I didn't
premeditate, I just opened my mouth. We had been talking about prayer
and family and other things, when I felt the prompting come into my
mind, "Ask him to obey the Word of Wisdom." It was one of those,
"Well..that would be completely random and off-subject, but sure!"
moments. And I was so struck by the results. I asked him, "Javier, what
would you do to be able to keep Nady for all of eternity?" He made some
joke about designing some mechanical contraption to keep them together.
"And if Jesus Christ was in this room, and he asked you to something to
be able to do that, you would do it, right?" "Yes. Anything." And then I
asked him if he would give up smoking. We had only talked briefly with
Nady over Javier's smoking habit, and she says she hates it, but
understands why he does it. The man works constantly and never sleeps,
and nicotine is often the only thing that keeps him going. That or
coffee. (For those who are unfamiliar with the Word of Wisdom, we don't
smoke or drink alcohol, tea, or coffee.) Giving up two at once would
be a sacrifice. But the commandment stands as it is, and I felt that I
should ask him to live it. There were a few cigarette butts on the
floor, and everyone went silent. He was quiet for a moment, and then
told Nady to go get his box of cigarettes. He took the box from her,
looked at it for a second, and then smashed it together in his hands,
crushing the contents of the box. He tossed it to the ground. "I have
been blessed with a really strong will-power, and I don't have any
addictions. I will never smoke every again." And that was that. That
simple, uncompromising act of faith meant the world to me. I almost
cried, as silly as that is. I just know that they will be baptized. I
just know.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
I
have been so incredibly blessed to find people to teach who can and
will be leaders in the Church, who have been prepared to hear the Gospel
of Jesus Christ. Roger is now the President of Institute, passes the
sacrament every week, and is planning on serving a mission. Adalberto
has been inviting his friends to Church. Luis goes on splits with the
Elders all of the time, and Hugo and his family were at Church this
Sunday. We have five people in Church this Sunday, actually, for the
first time in weeks. Maybe I'm not baptizing quite as much as other
missionaries, but I would rather baptize people who are truly converted
than a ton of people who will eventually fall away. There's a balance, I
suppose, but those are my thoughts on the matter.</div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Anyway.
I know that I have been put here in Leon, Nicaragua for a reason, and I
love this opportunity. I completed 6 months in the mission today,
unbelievably. Aahhh . . . what is happening to the time??</div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
Les quiero mucho!</div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
<div class="yj6qo ajU">
<div class="ajR" data-tooltip="Show trimmed content" id=":zm" role="button" tabindex="0">
<img class="ajT" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/images/cleardot.gif" /></div>
</div>
</div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-62774967492211088742014-03-13T18:59:00.002-07:002014-03-13T18:59:44.949-07:00Guinea Pigs and Miracles: 24 February 2014<div dir="ltr">
¡Hola familia y amigos!<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had to walk home from the Central of Leon in jeans today because we got on the wrong bus, and it felt so weird. I'm always, always in a skirt, and walking down the same streets I pass by every day in pants felt scandalous. I seriously felt naked. The cat calls don't help, either. "Ay! psst psst psst, Gatita! Chelita! Que bonitas ojos tienes!" commence with snapping and clapping, because logically I would respond to those things. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME HAVEN'T YOU EVER SEEN A WHITE PERSON BEFORE??" Geeze.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Spanish lesson of the week: Ulitos = little hair ties. Culitos..... hahaha well, you can google it. But I can assure you I don't want them anywhere near my hair.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We've had a lot of interesting service opportunities this week. Including and not limited to stopping in Guadalupe Park in front of the huge Catholic church there and helping a women peel about 100 potatoes and cutting them into french fry shapes (it made me laugh the way we approached her. "Well hey there! I see that you are peeling potatoes. Can we help?"), giving one of our investigators a foot rub (made me think of you, mom. And also how weird it is that I'm always giving random people foot massages), making a rather delicious pineapple upside down cake for the BAPTISM we had this week (first family woooooo woooo!), bringing someone a panini at the hospital, and shaving someone's eyebrows (Hna. G can take the credit for that one. Who knew that shaving eyebrows is a thing? Apparently it is). There are cakes to be made and french fries to be cut and eyebrows to be shaved, my friends. And we will shave those eyebrows. One hairy Nicaraguan woman at a time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm watching the guy whose computer screen is in front of me, and he's been Facebook stalking for a good hour now. It's a strange world we live in, but we all do it. I think one of the surprises about being here is just how much I haven't missed social media. Ah, he has now switched from Facebooking to googling bald men with tattoos. That, however, is something I miss very much. Take away my phone, take away Facebook, but I miss being able to say, "I'm gonna google it." Not necessarily bald men with tats, but, you know what I mean. Hna. G pronounces Google "goog-lay," which I think is hilarious.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm starting off this new and probably last change in Leon feeling sort of . . . pensive. I want to give this last change all I've got. In about a week or two, I will have completed 6 months in the mission. It's surreal, honestly, how fast the time is going. Before I know it, I'll have 9 months and be halfway through...and then a year . . . and then . . . boom. Over. I don't know if I'm going to extend yet or not, but I'm definitely thinking about it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I think one of the things I love most about being a missionary is the sheer amount of people we get to know. Sure, the majority of them don't end up having any interest in coming to church with us, but it's neat to know that there isn't any casa that is "off-limits." If we want to talk to someone, we do it. And the cool thing is, the majority of the people we talk to will just invite us inside. I know and love Leon so much more than if I had just passed by for a day or two, seen the Cathedrals, and left. I know who lives where and what they think about God, what they want out of life, what their troubles are, and what makes them happy. It's been interesting to me to see, the longer I'm here, just how many people I've gotten the chance to know.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had dreams two nights ago about going on a run listening to my iPod; as silly as it is, that's one of the simple joys in life I miss most.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But mostly I just want to write about guinea pigs and miracles, in that order.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We are teaching the most amazing family right now named Nady and Javier. Nady is Luis's cousin, and to describe her simply, she is the personified version of sunshine. She is so sweet and genuine and bubbly, and her house is like a little zoo. She's pretty young and petite (27), and I think she might not be able to have children, which is why she keeps so many little animals around. She has various pelts of different animals strung on the walls of her house and the skin of a boa constrictor, a tiny little chick that sleeps with her and her husband in their bed, a gigantic iguana named Stanley (whose tail is taller than me), a dog, and, my favorite, a guinea pig named Lula. For those of you who know me really well, you know that I've had guinea pigs pretty much my entire life--my dad once dubbed himself "the guinea pig farmer." I don't remember all of their names (when I was younger we cycled through new guinea pigs much faster . . .) . . . but holding Lula brought me back to White Sarah and Black Sarah, Flower Bob (Bob was just Bob until Bob had babies . . . and then became Flower Bob, haha), Candy and Michael (which happened to be the names of my dad's bosses at the time), Scar, Skittles (who erred on the incestuous side, unfortunately), Cuddlebug, and lastly, BB and Oreo, who lived to be 7 years old. I cried like a baby when they died in high school.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, there's the guinea pig part.<br />
<br />
And here's the miracle: Our first lesson with Nady was so long and jumbled I figured she probably wouldn't want to meet with us again, but we left her a copy of the Book of Mormon and that was that, I didn't think anything of it. Her husband, Javier, is a genius. He doesn't look anything at all like I imagined he would (he's probably a good 20 years older than she is), but after seeing them together more, they get it (one of those opposites attract kind of deals). He has like 3 PhDs in medical forensics and forensic psychology, and he's a surgeon and has a degree in computer engineering as well. He also has as huge mustache, big thick rimmed glasses and kind eyes. He loves Nady more than anything else in the world. She is, in his words, his "angel," and I find I must agree. She is one of the sweetest people I think I have ever met. What I love about him too is that for as smart as he is, he isn't cocky. Just really humble and just as faithful as his wife is.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We didn't meet Javier for weeks, because he's almost always on call for work and catching him at home is a bit of a miracle. But, my mission is all about miracles, as I am finding, and we had one with the two of them this week.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We stopped by Tuesday morning for Nady because she got our number from Luis and told us to come over to answer her questions about the terrible lesson we taught her, and so, excited to have someone actually <i>want </i>to talk to us, we went. When we arrived she had the Book of Mormon on her lap and I casually asked her, "So, what part are you reading right now?" expecting the same old, "Oh, the Introduction," or the first chapter of Nephi, or "I'm sorry I just didn't have time," when, to my surprise, she responded, "All of it." I was kind of slow and figured I was just misunderstanding and so asked excitedly, "All of 1st Nephi?? Really??" and she said, "No, I read all of it. I finished it last week. I've been waiting for you to stop by again to talk about it." I couldn't believe it. She read the entire Book of Mormon in two weeks!! And after talking with her about it, she not only believes it's true, but has invited her husband to start reading it, and they both want to be baptized! If that isn't a miracle, I don't know what it is.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Their baptismal date is the for the 8th of March. I think Javier might smoke and that might set us back a week or two, but I have no doubt in my mind that they are going to be baptized. We found out that same night when we were able to finally catch Javier at home that Nady was actually ostracized from the Christian church she had been visiting all her life, because she began dating Javier and the pastor assumed that because he was so much older than her that the relationship was wrong and they were living in sin. But he was wrong, and they weren't. They are both faithful people and didn't live together until after marriage, but the pastor didn't believe them, and in front of the entire congregation called her a harlot and told her to never come back. I think my jaw dropped open when she told us that, because it is honestly one of the most ridiculous things I have ever heard. Picture the sweetest, most innocent person you know, and imagine the humiliation of being cast out of the church you've been faithfully attending your <b>entire </b>life because of a prideful and deranged pastor. I can't even comprehend it. That being said, I believe it was part of God's plan. While we were teaching them, Javier said, "We've been waiting for something like this." Nady is an angel, and she was cast out of her church because she was being prepared to find something better. It is all truly a miracle, one I can't even pretend to take credit for.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The family we baptized this week, Hugo and Yesenia, are happy and preparing to go through the temple. Although I don't know them as well as I do some of the other people we are teaching, it was so neat to see Hugo (after 8 years of being less active) dress up in white to baptize and later confirm his wife. She cried and said that for the first time in 8 years, she knew that she would be with her family for forever. More than anything, that's the point of why I'm here--to bring people to the knowledge of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, so that they can truly know for themselves that death is not the end--la muerte no es el fin. Families are everything to God's plan, and I want to find those who are ready and searching for the truth.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hna. G and I have a goal to baptize every week this change, and we're going to do it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm happy, I love you all, we're not teaching Julio Blanco anymore (better luck next time, buddy), I miss naps, and I'll write you another novel next Monday.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Keep being great and know that you're in my prayers,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hna. Behan</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-34094651960696355142014-03-13T18:53:00.003-07:002014-03-13T18:53:38.284-07:0099 Isn't 100: 17 February 2014<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
<br />
<div dir="ltr">
¡Hola Familia y amigos!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am in a strangely flippant mood at the moment, and the curtain that is adorning the window I'm sitting in front of keeps smacking me periodically in the face, which isn't helping anything. So, it will be interesting to me to see what I came up with at the end of this letter. Also the whole "Relying on my journal and just copying things down" thing just isn't going to happen anytime soon, or ever, because I haven't written a single thing in the last two weeks. It's because I'm a mom, and training is hard. Worth it, though. I just don't think I've ever worked this hard in my life. Expect spelling errors and sentences that make no sense.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Everyone do me a favor. Stop reading this email for a moment, open a new tab, and find the YouTube video of the song "Dar Te un Beso" by Prince Royce, and you will be able to experience for yourself the song I literally hear at least 8 times every single day. And then come back and keep reading. Or don't, and that's cool too.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I got asked out on a date yesterday morning as we passed by for all of the people who lied and said they would go to church and then didn't, which was entertaining. He was sitting down on the street corner shirtless and covered in tattoos, helping out his buddy (one of the fathers of the families we are teaching who was completely drunk....), and told me, "Chelita, tienes una sonrisa hermosa...quiere salir conmigo para helado o cena un dia..?" Or, "Hey white girl, you have a beautiful smile, would you like to go out with me for ice cream or dinner sometime?" and I, being the fluent Latina that I am, thought he was inviting both my companion and I for the opportunity to teach him, because we had just invited him to church before he asked me. So I responded cheerfully, "Sure!" and then, realizing the error of my ways, had to explain the normal, "Oh no sorry I'm a missionary and you're gross" thing, and that was that. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Julio Blanco has postponed his baptism, on account of the fact he was under the impression that if he was baptized, I would consider his proposal to marry him (oh yeah, Julio Blanco proposed to me, did I forgot to mention that? hahaha), and I had to make up a boyfriend I have in the United States. I don't know who he is, but he's really tall and witty and fun, and we're getting married when I get back. Sorry, Julio. After talking with him and teaching more about the Restoration, I think he's still feeling positive about getting baptized..but who knows, really? 73 and still a player. Ladies, if you're looking a man who doesn't have teeth but is ready for love, I have just the one for you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's dust season in Nicaragua right now, which means my lips are so chapped I am beginning to look like the Joker, and I'm breaking out like crazy. And the Nicas, charming as they are, will all casually remark, "Yeah. You have a lot of acne right now." To which I wish I could reply, "Yeah. Well....you're fat!" but I just have to respond cheerfully, "Ah, yes. Yes, I do. You're right." Even if I did comment on their waist sizes, they would probably just shrug and say something like, "More to love!", which I really do love about them. Brutally honest, but just . . . relaxed. It's not about appearances here, which should be obvious. I walk out of the house everyday after my final and only glance in the mirror that day with the last thought "Well..this is as good as it's gonna get." and I still get proposed to, so, that's always a confidence booster.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Spanish lesson for you: cartera = wallet. Caraterra = highway. What I said to Gonzales this morning, "Hey G, can't find my highway . . . did I Ieave it on your bed? Or on my desk?" G: "Uh..your highway?" "Yeah, my highway. Did I leave it on the fridge? I'm always losing it."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I found it in my backpack, by the way. Which is, fun fact, where it always is when I "lose" it. Life is a Wallet . . . And I'm Gonna Ride It All Night Long.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There were cambios (changes) today, but I'm still here with Gonzales, which was what I was expecting. My guess is (and I'm psychic, so . . .) is that I'll be here one more change (1 change = 6 weeks), and then leave. Where to? Who knows. If I could choose, it would be Matagalpa or Jinotega, because it isn't torturously hot and there are mountains. But that means I'll probably be in Managua or Chinandega, because I have zero desire to serve in either of those two places. Less so Chinandega, because we had to do divisions there on Thursday of last week, and I seriously thought I was going to go insane. Chinandega is viewed as the "fertile soil" of the mission because they normally have the most baptisms there, and it's about 45 minutes northward of Leon. And it is SO HUMID and SO BORING. It might just be that I was put with an hermana that day who didn't like talking and made me do all of the work, but the area was so small we literally walked down every single street and contacted almost every house in the span of 6 hours. By the end of the day, I was stir crazy . . . and I was only there one day!! Can you imagine being stuck there for 6 or 7 months?? I can't do it. Don't send me there. Please. It's more hot and there are mosquitos, too.. ugh. Point of this message: Chinandega = the worst. 10 bucks says I'm serving there next. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On a less sarcastic note, I'm honestly really grateful for the chance to keep working in Leon, and we will be baptizing our first family this Saturday. Hugo is the husband, and he has been inactive in the church for about 8 years. His wife, Yesenia, was suuuuper Catholic for the majority of her life, but after many lessons and many prayers, she has decided to be baptized. The missionaries found them and have been teaching them on and off for years, and we're just the lucky two who got to be there to invite them to be baptized and see them change their lives around. Hugo, after weeks of trying to get his life back together, is now worthy to baptize Yesenia, and she finally accepted that as much as she loves the Catholic church, she wants an eternal family, and the goal for them is to be sealed in the temple. So, this Saturday at 7:00, we will be lucky enough to witness the miracle of an 8 year long process, and I'm grateful for all of the dedicated missionaries before us who did their part and didn't give up on them. You just never know when it will be someone's time to accept the message of the Gospel.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've really been pushing myself to get over my fear of rejection and just talking to everyone, and we've been having a lot of success and finding new people to teach everyday (fourteen this last week alone!). Tuesday of last week we made it our goal to talk with at least 10 different families that day (we normally talk to 5 or 6 every day and 15 other people), and our results were phenomenal. We didn't waste even a single second of the day, and I went to bed totally spent and totally happy, knowing that I had given that day my all. We contacted 76 people that day, including 19 different families. It was amazing, and a reminder to me that I need to be giving my mission my all. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Rosita told me about a tattoo she saw on an old woman this week displayed flamboyantly across her shoulders that said, "99 isn't 100," in English. I don't know why, but that unimportant little detail she noticed sparked a deep conversation between us about giving life all we have and the spiritual implications of our efforts here on this earth and how we'll all feel, once it's all said and down. 99 isn't 100. If we're not giving all we have, we're falling short. I don't know how I'll be feeling at the end of my mission (13 months left . . .), but I don't want to feel that I could have given more. I want to feel that I contacted 76 different people and 19 families, and couldn't have changed a single thing. It won't be easy, and I'm tired, but by the end . . . I want the 100.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway. The Church is true, and I love you all. All of my friends keep getting married and I'm just getting more fat and tan. But, hey, I'm happy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Missing you all, though. Was a bit homesick this week. But things are looking up and this is going to be a week of miracles, I'm sure of it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero muchisimo,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 The future Mrs. Julio Blanco Chela-Girl </div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-38284136565758925142014-03-13T18:48:00.001-07:002014-03-13T18:48:50.750-07:00Water Bottle Showers: 10 February 2014<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
¡Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Let me explain to you the logistics of a water bottle shower. A water bottle shower is when you're in the shower (which is about as ghetto as it gets--a metal hose attached to the ceiling that spouts freezing cold water onto a concrete floor) and completely covered in soap (because you feel disgusting and you are disgusting and so you feel the need to lather every inch of yourself with an unnecessary amount of body wash), and then, whilst in the midst of your soapy haven, the water decides to cut out on you completely. So you are then left with no other choice but to ask your companion if she has any water available, and after some searching, she comes up with two small water bottles she has been keeping in the freezer. Thus is born the water bottle shower. A freezing, miserable experience, and at the end of it, you are pretty much just as soap-covered as before.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's been five months now without a hot shower. And weirdly, I'm okay with that. You couldn't pay me to take a hot shower in this climate.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
How is the snow going, by the way? It's weird to even think about being cold right now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
All is well in the life of Hermanas Behan and Gonzales. She continues to make me laugh with her English, and I continue to make everyone laugh with my Spanish. My favorite thing she told me recently was, "I don't want fat for life," which translates to something along the lines of, "Hey Hermana Behan, maybe we should stop eating so much bread and chocolate and batidos and respados and bolsitas so we don't return home so fat that no one recognizes us." I must say I agree with her. I don't want fat for life either.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We were able to visit the beach today in Ponoloya and it was glorious! (I may have just butchered the name of the beach, but just go with it). Two other hermanas in our zone had to spend the night at our house last night (four girls...two beds.. guess who didn't sleep so well last night?), and it straight up felt like a sleepover. We watched "The Other Side of Heaven" on our tiny little DVD player and all fell asleep after fifteen minutes (at 9:45, haha. We're such grandmas.), and, as the movie is set in Tonga, it gave us very strong desires to visit the beach. And considering there is one that is in our Zone limit and we've never been, we made it happen.<br />
<br />
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Today felt..surreal. It's a Monday and everyone is working, so we were literally the only people on the beach, and it felt like we were abandoned on our own little island. After taking an unnecessary amount of pictures, we laid out a blanket and laid on the sand underneath one of the tiny little huts constructed from sticks thatched with dried palm tree fronds that were strewn across the beach, and talked and cat napped and relaxed. After a really long, hard week, it felt good to breathe in the fresh ocean air and admire the Pacific, and just get away from civilization for awhile. I miss nature, and mountains, and trees..but I'll take the ocean, too. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hermana Gonzales offered me a slice of mango she bought at the market this week, and I was excited to try my first Nicaraguan mango (expecting a delicious bursting of sweet mangoey goodness and flavor). Wrong. They eat the mangoes here when they're green with salt and chile pepper! It was disgusting! And I ate like three pieces, I have no idea why. My mango experience was a lie. Maybe I'll have better luck next time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was a good week, as well as a heartbreaking one. Rebecca doesn't want anything more with the Church right now. She's too involved with her boyfriend and other things that she won't tell us about, and the last time we talked with her, she interrupted us mid sentence to abruptly say, "Don't you just...want to run away from it all sometimes? I just...don't think I can take it anymore." It ended up being another one of the more stronger spiritual moments on my mission, testifying once again of the power of the Atonement, but by the end of it, she was left with the choice to make for herself. Take His hand, or don't. Stay and keep fighting on, or don't. Make the decision to change now for the better, or don't. And for the moment, she has opted to keep going down the path she is on.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mostly I feel bad for her five little kids, because they all love the Church and always ask us if they can come with us, but I love her, too. When we passed by for them this Sunday at 6:30 (our intention being to help her clean up and get ready so it would be possible for them to go), she didn't answer the door. And when we passed by an hour later, she was outside, still in her pajamas. We asked if she would be coming, and she shook her head and crinkled her nose and said "no." It was more than just a "no," though. It was a final no, and as much as I would love to, I can't do anything to change that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If she ever changes her mind or realizes that there really is an exit to all of her troubles, we'll always be here. After all of the lessons and passing by and the Family Night we had with the whole family, I guess I thought that things would change...but she just isn't ready right now.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's hard, to see someone who needs help, and to want to help them and to know what would help them, and then to see them reject it. I experienced just a small taste of what Christ must feel, when He sees us, in spite of all of our knowledge of what is right and wrong, choose the wrong. It's a sadness I've never felt before, honestly. And a common one. The fact of the matter is, those who are ready for the Gospel are few.. it's just a matter of keeping up the enthusiasm to keep looking for them, even after days and days of rejection and disappointment.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This Sunday marks second Sunday in a row we haven't had a single person accompany us to Church. We always have lists of about 15 people who have promised they will go, and we pass by for them before the sacrament meeting, and one by one, they all suddenly have some other obligation. Sunday mornings are, unsurprisingly, my least favorite part of my week. I guess I just don't understand why they can't just be honest with us and tell us they can't go, or don't want to go, or whatever else it is they're going to invent in the last moment, rather that having us pass by just to walk back to the church alone again. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm trying to be strong in the faith. I know there's a reason why I'm here, and that there are people here with whom I can share the light. There's always an exit. A "light at the end of the tunnel," as the cliche goes, but ultimately, we choose if we want to seek that light or not. It will never fade away.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mosiah 16:9, "He is the light and the life of the world; yea, a light that is endless, that can never be darkened; yea, and also a life which is endless, that there can be no more death."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"El es la luz y la vida del mundo..."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He really is. I hope everyone finds a chance to share that light with someone this week who needs it. You may not even know they need what you have, but I promise they do. There are people who are searching for the light of Christ everyday, they just don't know where to find it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
More to come for the next week,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les Quiero Muchisimo,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-88115451180265743402014-02-04T13:32:00.001-08:002014-02-04T13:32:33.614-08:00It's Not Your Turn: 3 Feb 2014<div dir="ltr">
!Hola Familia y Amigos!<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I ate Chinese food this week! We went out to eat with Roger and his lovely girlfriend, Patricia (Whom we are teaching!!! Aaahh! Huge news because she has been agnostic for years and was super angry about Roger getting baptized . . . at first. Then she met us and now she loves us. Boom. Success.), and I can now say I have eaten the Nicaraguan version of Chinese food. It wasn't bad, but definitely not the best I've ever had. Our waiter tried to talk us out of what we decided on ordering and was kind of rude about it, and it reminded me of the Chinese food incident my family and I had in Ireland. <br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Why we even <i>went </i>to a Chinese food restaurant in Ireland is beyond me, but we did, and it was mediocre as well. My friend Rachel Dunning ordered egg rolls (the Nicaraguans call them "Tacos de China," haha) and a few of them were definitely undercooked. She had us try them to see if it was just in her head--but no, clearly cold in the middle and not even very good. So we called the waiter over and told him, and instead of apologizing and removing the plate and replacing it later (which is the normal thing to do), he took a bit of one of the egg rolls in front of us and said, "It tastes fine to me." I can't even remember if he ended up replacing them or not, I just remember it was hilarious.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Moral to the story: Don't eat Chinese food in Ireland or Nicaragua. I can tell you it is a bad idea from experience.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I only wrote in my journal one time this entire week--that is how busy we have been. So, I'm writing this off of the top of my head (Expect grammar errors. I feel like I'm losing my ability to communicate. I tried praying out loud in English the other day, and it was seriously SO HARD. I know, dad, you always think people are exaggerating when they claim they've forgotten how to speak English, but switching your mind from one language to another is not easy). But mostly I just have to share the amusing moments from Hermana Gonzales and her attempts at speaking English.</div>
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Gonzalisisms:<br />
</div>
</div>
<div>
* "Attention me please!" ---Translation--- "Look at me now."</div>
<div>
<br />
* "I am honey." --- "I am sweet." (Except her pronunciation of honey was hone-ee, which sounds like something completely different, which made me choke on the juice I was drinking.)<br />
</div>
<div>
* "When you leave, I would kill." --- "When you leave me, I will die." hahaha (We hope that's the translation. Or we might have a slight problem on our hands.)<br />
</div>
<div>
* "I have hungry everybody moment!" --- "I am hungry all of the time."</div>
<div>
<br />
* "Me too, really." --- "Me neither."</div>
<div>
<br />
* "Ees a bad girl." --- "Hey! Don't say that!"</div>
<div>
<br />
And then all of the time, "Oh my gosh! I don't believe it!", "Whaaat?", and "Awkwarrrrddd," haha. She's cute.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Her English mistakes have nothing on mine in Spanish this week, however (I look forward to the day when I won't have this problem anymore, although I doubt it will ever come). Okay, so here's the story: We were leaving our house at the same time we always do, and Hna. G was a good five steps in front of me. And some CREEP reached out his hand as he passed by her and brushed it across her upper thigh. Um, not okay. She just stopped right on the sidewalk because it took her by surprise, but I was incredulous and tried to yell at him in Spanish, "Hey! Don't touch her!!" (which might not have been the smartest thing to do, but it was instinctual and ain't nobody gonna touch my hija). Which is, in Spanish, "Hey! No la toque!!" But, what I actually said (or yelled, rather) was, "Hey! No le toca!!" For a bit of a Spanish lesson for you, "Tocar" is used more in the reference of waiting your turn. Which means I said, "Hey, it's not your turn!" He yelled out something back I didn't understand, and Hna. G busted up laughing. My intentions were good, but . . . the delivery could use some work. It just wasn't his turn. He has to wait awhile. Or never.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ugh. Such a creep. I wish it was acceptable to use my scriptures as a weapon sometimes. My Bible is at least five pounds. I think I could definitely drive my point across if I could just thwack someone across the face with it. And when I say someone, I mean all of the pervey depraved animals that live here that call themselves men. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also, I don't know if anyone recalls the name "Julio Blanco," but he was the 73 year old man with the 22 year old girlfriend who was going to get baptized before he randomly decided to up and leave for a farm for almost two months. Well, he came back, and was still positive about his baptism. There was a moment in our lesson with him earlier this week, however, when he was talking and I had honestly no idea what he was saying (he doesn't have teeth, which doesn't help anything). I thought he was talking about the farm and how someone hit a cow with their car and then gave him the money and he used it to buy his daughter a new dress, so my response was, "Oh, que bueno hermano!" and I didn't realize why my companion gave me a weird look. Turns out he was actually talking about how his daughter was hit on the highway from a car dodging a cow, and he had to find her and then her dress which had been separated in the process (horrible, I know). And my response? "That's great, brother!" Fortunately, he's hard of hearing and didn't acknowledge what I said, and Hna. G reacted accordingly. She gave me a hard time about it later, because sometimes I just really don't even know what's going on, but . . . yeah. Welcome to my life.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In other news, I need to mention what happened in our trip to Managua this past week. First off, let me just say that I don't ever want to serve in Managua because it's dirty and Americanized and chaotic. (Which means, I can probably predict now that I will, at some point or other, be serving there.) After a long meeting for all of the trainers and their "kids", I was sitting in the back of the bus waiting for everyone else to board and eating the rest of the Subway sandwich they gave us on the go for dinner. While I was eating it a little boy (maybe 8 or 9) came up the window and tapped loudly on the glass, pointing to my sandwich and then holding up his outstretched palm. I didn't know what to do. The window was sealed shut and I wasn't anywhere near the entrance, and so I just looked away hoping he would leave. But he didn't. He kept insistently tapping on the glass and holding out his hand, until an Elder getting on the bus gave him 20 cordobas or so (which is about a dollar) and he snatched them and ran away. I felt guilty but I didn't know what to do. He's my little brother's Sammy's age. I try to imagine Sammy being hungry and needing to beg for food...and it wrenches my heart.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There are always little kids in the streets, some no more than 6 or 7 years old, selling caramels and chips and gum . . . one little girl in particular whom I always buy from, just because she's always in the terminal when we make the trip from Leon to Managua. Why is anyone that little trying to sell things for a living? Why is she all alone? Where are her parents? Why is the world so completely unbalanced? Maybe I don't really want to know the answers to those questions.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Someone told me this week that Nicaragua is the second poorest country in the northern hemisphere (second to Haiti), and after driving past a little province called Nagarote for divisions this week (when we switch companions for a day just to learn more, or something like that), I believe it. Nagarote has a Safari-like feel to it, volcanoes in the background (the biggest one is named Momotombo, which I think is so fun to say), thatched roofs, long golden grass in endless expanses of fields and banana trees and the occasional house . . . if you can even call them that. The "houses" were made of nothing but 4 wooden pegs and tarp. It's impossible to grasp, to be honest. My mind recognizes the people outside, milling about and going about their daily business, and it's almost like I pretend they don't <i>really </i>live there. Because surely, no one is actually <i>that </i>poor. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't understand why some people have everything and others have nothing. I don't understand why in spite of that knowledge, I'm still so overly conscious of brand names and other materialistic things. It's the difference between Airwalk and Converse. They look virtually the same,but you wouldn't catch me dead wearing the former. And why? Why is that? Why can I be like that when there are people in the world who live in houses that are poorer quality than my family's tent that we keep in storage? Why is it that I could care less about 5 bucks but for someone here it could mean the difference in eating that week or not? It's almost like . . . I'm numb to it. The plastic seats, the rocking chairs, the tubs of water, the rusting tin walls, dirt floors, dirty cement, cheap quality photos.. I'm so accustomed to it that it doesn't really phase me anymore.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And you know what I can't understand more than anything else? They're just so, so happy. All of the time. I love Nicaraguans. I really do. They have nothing, but what they have, they would give you. I have not met a single Nicaraguan (not even one) who doesn't believe in God. He is a part of all of their lives, and they are a humble, God-loving people. I learn more from being here every single day. More than I ever even imagined in my comfortable home back in Southern Illinois.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sorry if the end of this letter was a bit negative. It's just . . . incredible, really, how blessed we all really are. I'm trying to give my mission my all, and I want everyone to know that. I'm not coming home without having given this my all. There are people who are ready for the Gospel, they just don't know where to find it. And with His help, we're going to find him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
More Managua stories to come, time is short. But you are all in my prayers and I'm loving every single day here more than I even have the words to express. I completed five months today, too, if you can believe it! Almost 1/3 of the way done. Time passes by way too fast.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero muchisimo!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana "Bee-am" (the most common pronunciation of my name, haha)</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-33597029721392014272014-01-29T13:18:00.000-08:002014-01-29T13:18:12.052-08:00Mountain Climbing: 27 January 2014<div dir="ltr">
<br />
¡Hola familia y amigos!<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I woke up this morning thinking about how amazing the women are here with balancing things on their heads. Huge baskets laden with bread, fish, tortillas, tamales packaged in banana leaves...how do they do it? I've seen women get on the bus with their giant baskets on their heads and nothing happens. I tried walking around the apartment with my journal on my head and it fell after 30 seconds. Sad. You should try it and let me know if you have more luck than I did.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br />
<div>
I ate cereal with real milk today as well, which I haven't done since being here. We also had a Zone Activity and made waffles!! Reminded me of home.<br />
<img class="GH" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/?ui=2&ik=2c7804ee81&view=att&th=143df774f612799c&attid=0.1.1&disp=emb&zw&atsh=1" /> <br />
With Hermana Gonzales<br />
<br />
<img class="GH" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/?ui=2&ik=2c7804ee81&view=att&th=143df774f612799c&attid=0.1.2&disp=emb&zw&atsh=1" /><br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<img class="GH" src="https://mail.google.com/mail/u/0/?ui=2&ik=2c7804ee81&view=att&th=143df774f612799c&attid=0.1.3&disp=emb&zw&atsh=1" /> <br />
<br />
This past week was quite possibly the fastest week of my entire life. I can't even believe that I'm sitting here writing this, to be honest. Seriously...what happened to the last seven days?? We went to Managua three times, and I'm guessing that's why. But before expounding on that, I need to tell you all about the amazing BAPTISM we had this weekend!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So his name is Luis and he's 18 years old, and I met him in my English class (which is where I met Roger as well. All of my students thought that was pretty funny and were arguing about who would be "next"..two down....four to go...haha). I'll try to send pictures next week so you can get an idea of what he looks like. He's what everyone refers to as "morenita," super dark skinned, dark hair, dark eyes, and he is always, always, <i>always </i>wearing shorts (convincing him to wear pants on Sunday was a hard won battle). Honestly, everything with Luis has been a hard won battle. He is so incredibly skeptical about everything, and we taught him every little detail of every single lesson, catering to his favorite word, "Apparentemente." It's been neat, however, to see his usage of that word lessen. "Apparently" denotes doubt, and doubt and faith cannot coexist. He learned that the hard way after weeks and weeks of teaching and setting new baptismal dates and nothing happening (he was one of the two baptisms that fell through last week, actually). And honestly, I don't know what changed with him. He was in an interview with our district leader (the Elder who conducts the baptismal interviews) for TWO AND A HALF HOURS, and at the end of it, came out and said, "I'm sorry, I'm just not ready." So, we respected that decision and gave him some space, as heartbreaking as it was (it was so hard to keep my face composed and not cry in front of him right then and there). After a few days of not seeing him, however, we received a text message: "Hermanas? Do you think you could stop by for me this week?" So, naturally, we stopped by. And I don't know what changed in the four days of not seeing him and since his interview, but he was different. More .. humbled. Less skeptical. I put my palms out and told him sincerely, "Luis, what are you hoping to gain from us passing by and teaching you?" He paused and said.. "I have been thinking a lot more about my baptism." We definitely perked up to hear that. So I said, nonchalantly, "Yeah? What have you been thinking?" "I think it would be a good idea." (at this point my excitement level is sky high, but, keeping calm..), "Really? And when would you be thinking? Like ... months? Weeks?" Luis: "Well ... days." And then we made plans for his baptism for Saturday.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And he was baptized!!! It was glorious. There were several complications, including someone losing the keys to the baptismal font and Luis having to scale the glass (which is as high as the ceiling) and hopping over (I took pictures, and it was hilarious. At one point he was just clinging on to the top of the glass by his fingertips), but he made it out alive and we were able to fill the font (although I suppose if you had to choose a place to die, a baptismal font isn't a bad idea). I felt similarly about Luis's baptism as I did Roger's. He still has miles to go and things to learn, but I know that his choice to be baptized was a huge act of faith on his part. And "apparentemente," a good one, because he seems much more peaceful now and excited to start a whole new life in the church.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He lives in a tiny little house underneath a canopy of banana trees, and it's exactly the type of location I imagined I would be teaching before coming here. They don't have furniture so we just sit on rocks behind his house and a small platform of plywood. I love the talks we have with Luis--especially when his cute little grandma and mom and sister join in. We all talked for a good ten minutes last week about "garrobos", which are huge black iguana like beasts that apparently live here and that will chase you if they see you. Luis is terrified of them, haha. But they're also apparently "delicious," and are sold here in the market. Luis's mom said they'll buy one and make me try it sometime. I'm...less than excited at that prospect, but I'm down to try anything.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I realize the transition is weird, but I wanted to take a moment to talk about mountains. So we're currently teaching a lovely woman named Rebeca, who is the single mom of five little kids. We passed by for her this week like we always do, and when we stopped by, something was clearly wrong. She was <i>upset</i>, but wouldn't say why and we didn't know what to do. I was grateful for Rosita being there (the awesome member who is always out working with us), and she shared a personal experience about climbing a steep mountain, and how at one point she wanted to stop and turn back, but her sister helped her make it through. It's obvious Rebeca has trials. I don't know what they are, but I can imagine they're not easy (5 little kids by yourself?? No, thank you.). She's trying to do good, but the mountain is steep. Sometimes, it's too much. Our backpacks we're lugging around are too heavy, and we reach a point when we think, "You know what God? I just can't do it anymore. There isn't a point anymore. I need to turn back." But it's at THAT point, wondering if we can even go on, when Jesus Christ steps in. He's climbed the mountain. He's carried our laboriously heavy backpacks up to the very top and he's waiting to help us up with His hand outstretched. It's up to us whether or not we take that hand, but it will never withdraw. He will always be there.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't know why I felt so strongly that we needed to share that with Rebeca (it wasn't anything that we were planning on teaching her), but I think I realized in that moment just how incredible the Gospel of Jesus Christ is in its power to heal. I testified to Rebeca (with what Rosita later told me was perfect Spanish), "Any problem we are having, anything at all, be it emotionally, physically, spiritually, with ourselves..our families...it doesn't matter, can be healed through the power of the Atonement. Any and all problems in this life here on earth and fixed by the atoning power of Jesus Christ. There is NOTHING that he cannot heal." And in that moment, I felt that. And then we invited her to be baptized for this week. Not because I want to "complete my goal," or make my District look good, or write to my mission President that we had "success" for the week.. but because I want Rebeca to feel clean and whole. I shared the scripture in Isaiah 1:18: "though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool." I don't even know if she has serious sins that are weighing her down, but it felt right to share. Sometimes we feel like we're just too stained. Too red--it's permanent, not even bleach can remove it. We feel like we're better off discarded. But bleach holds nothing on the power of the Atonement. And Rebeca can be healed. Take off the backpack. It's the moments when we feel the most alone that He is there for us. I know this is true. I've seen it time and time again. And you know? She accepted a baptismal date for this coming week. And I have the faith that it will happen.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Fun fact about backpacks--I literally feel like mine is a part of my body. I've been wearing a backpack since backpacking around Europe and I feel weirdly exposed without it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, time is short as it always is, so I will expound more on the adventures in Managua and other fun things next Monday.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero a todos!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-72065805746085704382014-01-23T09:00:00.002-08:002014-01-23T09:00:27.051-08:00Wal-Mart: January 20, 2014<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
<br />
<div dir="ltr">
!Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You know I honestly have no idea what I'm going to write about in this email, so bear with me if I'm all over the place.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Firstly, Hna. G really wants to learn English and I've been having so much fun teaching her. I can teach her anything I want! The power is almost too much. So, naturally, I taught her how to say, "He's a jerk," "just kidding," and the usage of the words "random" and "awkward," because there aren't direct translations for those phrases in Spanish. Her English is probably about as entertaining as my Spanish was at the beginning. She asked me today, "Can you borrow me?" haha "Um... no thank you, hermana."<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Secondly: Training. So last Sunday night I received a call from my Zone Leader, Elder Whited (everyone pronounces his name White-head. Unfortunate, I know), and my thoughts weren't particularly inspiring. They were, if I remember correctly, "crap crap crap crap crap crap," followed by Whited's, "Hermana?" "Si, Elder?" "Congratulations! You're going to be TRAINING!" and me, "Oh my gosh. Are you serious?? Gah I KNEW it!" followed by other words of wisdom or comfort or I don't know, I wasn't listening. I just knew I had to pack a bag with clothes for two days, say goodbye to Hna. Najarro and leave for Managua. And that's what happened.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I predicted I would be training, but that does <i>not </i>mean I'm <i>prepared </i>for training. I've only been here for two changes! I still don't speak Spànish! I'm directionally challenged (if any of you have spent more than a week with me, you know this. I didn't know where Wal-mart was after living in Carterville for 3 years and it's literally straight down the same highway and then you take a right. Yeah.), and our area just changed and is now larger than before. They don't have street signs here. A common direction is as follows: "Por la puenta valeska, seis cuadras al norte, dos y media varas arriba." What the heck is a vara?? I still have no idea, haha. It turns out to be a good thing because I end up talking to pretty much everyone in the streets to find out where in the world I'm going, but to say I am a little bit overwhelmed is an understatement. Everything is just in reference to something else. "Ah, do you know where the purple house is by the bridge? It's right by that." "Great. Thank you. I will try to find said purple house although there are at least 15 in a one mile radius." Oh well. I would prefer to be walking everywhere than driving any day,and my sense of direction has been improving dramatically (I know you don't believe me, Dad, but I promise it's true).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On top of that, I am now responsible for paying our rent, water, lights, etc, reporting numbers to the mission president every week, and making sure that I don't completely screw up Hna. Gonzales' expectations of the mission and teach her incorrectly, or lower her faith. No pressure.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That being said, I can officially say I have gotten over my fear of public transportation, and I'm surprisingly fine. I navigated Hna. Gonzales and I (by MYSELF) from Managua to Leon in two different buses and a taxi, and we arrived in tact. I ride the ruta like a pro, I know how to navigate the tube in London, I've taken the metro in New York, and various ferries and trains and planes and you name it all across Scotland and England and Germany. And, if you were wondering, I can find both Wal-marts in both Carbondale and Marion, so, things are looking up in my life.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On the bus ride to Managua, I wrote: "Who is this poor girl I'm going to be training? Is she American and can't speak Spanish (in which case we're both doomed)? Is she Latina and angry? Does she want to be here? Will she resent me? Will she know how to teach? Will she know anything? Will we get along? Will it be easy to love her? Is she going to judge me because I have the Spanish vocabulary of a 7 year old? Will she be better than I'm hoping for? Will I love her as much as Hna. N?" I was pretty much just a huge anxious ball of questions. But, turns out I had nothing to worry about, because Hna. G is darling, too. She's my daughter, after all, so that is to be expected.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Everything about Hna. Gonzales is super petite, but she makes up for her lack of height with her personality. Super spunky and also very opinionated (Spicy is a good word for her. Sometimes we have moments where I'm right and I know I'm right and she's wrong but won't let it go...but I'm learning to get over my pride and just accept it and move on. I value our relationship more than I value my ego, which is saying something), and I'm reminded of the Shakespeare quote (I may be misquoting this, sorry Mr. Wakey), "Though she be small, she is fierce." I felt a weird sort of protective instinct over her on our first bus ride back to Leon. She was totally exhausted and fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, and because of our height difference I was bent into a weird "Z" shape with Hna. G on one side and a really fat guy smashing me in the middle from the other side (you know the bus seats that are only meant to fit two people? That's where we were sitting), but I felt in that moment a comforting sense of peace. I have been pushed out of my comfort zone, but I know it's going to make me grow. I've been pushed to the edge, and I'm going to fly. Or die trying. haha</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I really miss Hna. Najarro, but I know that I'm supposed to be with Hna. Gonzales. There's a song lyric from the musical Wicked I have stuck in my head right now: "I've heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn. And we are lead by those who help us most to grow, if we let them, and if we help them in return." I don't really know too much about Hna. G yet, but here is what I do know: She's one of 4 girls in her family, and they have nothing. Her mom irons clothing for a living in El Salvador, and was estranged from all of her family because she was pregnant out of wedlock. While pregnant, she was physically abused by the man she lived with, Hna. G's father, until she eventually left him. Turns out Gonzales isn't even her real name'--it's from a neighbor and she's using it for legal reasons. Right now, her mom is alone. She has one other sister on a mission in Panama, and another who is married. And she is here. She brought one tiny little suitcase, 5 shirts, 5 skirts, 1 dress, and 2 pairs of shoes, both of which probably won't last a month. She doesn't receive weekly emails from her family because her mom doesn't have the money or know how to use a computer...so she finished writing about half an hour earlier than I did. She has been cheerful about it, but that night she broke down crying (we both cried) and I know that is such a huge sacrifice for her to be here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And honestly, although it's only been 12 days now, I love Hna. Gonzales. She comes off as really bold and confident and silly and prepared, but she's scared, and sad, and alone. She's scared she made a mistake in leaving her mom all alone, scared of failing on the mission.. and I realized that we're all scared. I'm scared, too. But meeting her and knowing her background...I know that I have been so, so incredibly blessed. And I know that she was put into my life for a reason. She might not have family to write to, but I'll be her family. I love and admire her for how strong she is being in coming to Nicaragua and leaving everything else behind, and together, we're going to give the mission all we've got and see some miracles. I'm sure of it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's interesting, how that works out.... God knew I was comfortable and had reached a plateau. And now? I have no choice but to rely on Him. I cannot do this alone. My prayers, by necessity, have become a lot more fervent. It's scary. I'm still overwhelmed. But I can do this. My Spanish isn't perfect, my teaching isn't perfect, my directions are helpless, and sometimes, I just don't know what to say or where to go or what to do. Me, as myself, can accomplish very little. But with God? I can be lead. "I'll go where you want me to go, dear Lord, over mountains or plains or seas.. I'll say what you want me to say dear Lord, I'll be what you want me to be."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
This week had its ups and downs as usual. Two baptisms fell through, which was depressing, but then Roger received the Priesthood and made up for everything. We've found several awesome families that we're teaching, and I'm hopeful about the future.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And now, I am out of time. I love everyone! keeping you all in my prayers,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero con todo mi corazon,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana "I don't know where I'm doing but I'm going to keep smiling anyway" Behan</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-76908826939815701142014-01-23T08:58:00.001-08:002014-01-23T08:58:14.770-08:00I'm a MOM! Jan. 13, 2014<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
<div>
¡Hola familia ya amigos!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Note to self: don't leave two giant knives in your backpack. You'll try to get our your journal and slice your hand open.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway. Did ya miss me? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I didn't have the opportunity to even check email last week, let alone write, because my entire life was flipped upside down. So, my apologies. I received a call at 8:30 pm Sunday night that I would be packing up and staying in Managua for the next two days to prepare to be a TRAINER. In other words, I'm psychic. I'm the only gringa who has been here for only 3 months who was called to be a trainer, and it might be a good thing that you didn't get an email from me....because I was so overwhelmed it was unreal. But, I'm fine now and life is good.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But where in the world do I even start? Blah. I don't know. Sometimes (all of the time) I wish I had the magical pen from Harry Potter's Rita Skeeter and it would just write out all of my thoughts for me. New Christmas idea, mom. If you send it to me now, I <i>might </i>just get it next year.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Firstly, the entertaining things in my life:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We ran into quite a few drunks last week (after effects of New Years), which led to several interesting street encounters. One drunk man called out to me, "Adios la alemana mas preciosa!" (the most precious German girl), and another who yelled out, "Bye Bye lady! I like it the weay you wear the backpack!" haha Backpacks. So sexy, you know. Another man sitting by himself on the street corner (no houses in sight) said, "Hello. God to bless you. Please come in." and another yelled out to Hna. Najarro, "Adios, Elder!" haha. Elder Najarro and his purple skirt and shirt. A bit gender confused, unfortuntely.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't know why, but everyone here thinks I'm German. Or from Holland. ? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't know if it's the post-Christmas season feelings or what, but everyone has been giving us food lately. I just can't find the balance! I'm either starving or I never want to look at food ever again. This week, there was a lot of, "Here, you poor darlings, eat this heaping plate of beans and rice. You're walking around all day and need no less than five rolls. And here, eat this slab of fried cheese bigger than your face, love." You know what happened to my New Years resolution to lose weight? It died. It died and is now living in my thighs. Whatever. Dad, I want a Gym membership when I get back.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was also given hairy pig skin to eat this week (I almost gagged...fortunately, my new companion likes it, and I was able to sneak it to her), and tried a new "fruit" called "Grosseras." True to their name, they're gross. They're the size and color of green grapes, but pumpkin shaped, and they're bitter and disgusting. Not a fan. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, in more important news, first I need to tell you about the worst day of my mission, followed by the best day of my mission.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Worst day: There was a point last week when everything just hit rock bottom. We were all waiting for Roger to show up for his baptismal interview, and he never showed. We waited for an hour and a half...no Roger. We STILL don't have a phone, either, so we had no way of calling him. So, feeling sufficiently discouraged, we decided we had waited long enough and needed to leave. One of the Elders was looking through the photos on my camera, and in an attempt to erase one embarrassing photo, I erased ALL the photos on my memory card. Awesome. My only baptism, my birthday, Hna. N's birthday, Christmas pictures, photos taken at the perfect moment...all of it. Gone. The Elders said there might be a way to get them back, but I was feeling pretty skeptical. So, we left, and I just felt so...discouraged. Changes coming up, Hna. N probably leaving, Roger not being baptized, all of my pictures are gone.... I just wanted to sit on the street corner and cry. But, seeing as that wasn't an option, we walked to dinner.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
While at dinner, the members whom we were eating with (awesome couple named Luzmaria and Alberto) received a phone call. "Hola? Oh, Elders? What do you need?" my heart was racing so fast, hoping for the best. Elder Romero had somehow figured out where we were and wanted to talk to me. "Hermana," he said. "We have good news for you." Roger had arrived at the Chapel super late because he missed the bus, which only comes once every hour. But when he got there and realized no one was there, he didn't stop there. He walked to a member's house, called up Elder Reed (our District Leader who gives the baptismal interviews), and then met them at the Church for his interview. Then Elder Romero miraculously located us and told us about it. So, naturally, we thanked Alberto and Luzmaria for dinner (both ex-missionaries, so they understood) and BOOKED it to the Church. The difference in the walk to dinner and from dinner was almost comical. On the way there..gloomy, neither Hna. N or I said a single word, and everything just seemed dark and depressing. The way back? Classic disney scene. Little kids laughing, birds singing, people laughing, everyone smiling. Hna. Najarro was <b>euphoric</b>. She said, in Spanish, "I don't even have the words to express the alegria (joy) I feel right now." I felt the same. The camera things was less than ideal, but honestly? I would have traded all of the photos on my camera to see Roger baptized.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And you guys...Roger was baptized = best day of my mission. I realize I'm writing more details about it than you probably care to know, but I just can't write enough to express how life changing that day was for me. I'm going to quote what I wrote in my journal because I can't think of a better way to re-word what I was feeling:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Roger was baptized. My joy is...full. I don't even know if I can describe it,really. The Church is true. It's all worth it. And seeing Roger experience that for himself today..I don't know. It was a little taste of heaven, I think.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Roger said he was feeling kind of nervous, but the moment before his baptism, standing in the font, he felt a sense of peace. The way he described it was, 'I don't know how to explain it. I felt something I have never felt before. I feel...tranquil. Emotional." I was just as nervous for him and was praying silently that all would go well, and I know Hna. N was, too.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"It was everything an more a baptism is supposed to be like. I just felt so much love for Roger, and for the mission, and for being here. Seeing him come out of the water was one of those moments I will never forget.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"After his baptism and after changing, Roger shared his testimony with us (he says he isn't good at public speaking but the truth is he's a born leader and excellent speaker), and his testimony made me cry. He shared how he first met us about two months ago, and how it was either a thing of chance or meant to be, because he was about to leave his house when we knocked on the door looking for his dad. We invited him to English class and that was that. Well, he came to class, and that was just the beginning. He bore testimony that he knows the Church is true. It was..perfect.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Roger is just so special. I know he'll be a leader in the Church someday, and today was just the beginning of a whole new life. I had a tiny vision of what it would be like to see him in heaven someday, and how much joy we'll feel there, knowing the experiences we had on earth. I will never forget Roger Jerez. My life has been forever changed by him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I don't even know what else to say. I'm...content. And grateful. And also convinced I have the best investigator (now member) in the world. He told Hna. N that he's looking for a job, but if they try to make him work on Sunday, he won't accept it. I know there are other people in Nicaragua like Roger, and I'm determined to find them."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My district leader told me that we shouldn't be discouraged about the lack of results in December, because most missionaries would kill to find someone as amazing as Roger. And it's true. We're teaching his girlfriend now, too, and he's thinking about serving a mission. (!!!!!!) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love being a missionary. This is what people mean, when they say that the mission is 75% rejection and hardship and disappointments and 25% of the most fulfilling joy it makes it all worth it.I have met people here who have changed my life forever. I'm supposed to be here. If I ever doubted that, I can't know. God delivered...He always delivers.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I feel that I should share a part of my patriarchal blessing with all of you, because it was really neat for me to see it come to fruition. In relation to my mission, it says, "You will be a great missionary. . .There will be young men that you bring into the gospel who will become bishops and high counselors and stake presidents and patriarchs." I do not doubt that Roger is one of those young men.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1 Cor. 2:9, "Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, neither have entered into the heart of men, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him." I love God, and I have desires to serve him. I want to give all I have to my mission. I know that any "sacrifices" I make here will turn out to be the best investments of my life. Sometimes I joke that 14 more months is a reallllyyyy long time and I'd like to be home (I completed four months last week), but it really isn't,and I don't want to leave. If this is just the beginning,and I feel this much peace and love and spiritual confirmation and the desire to change and be better? If I've met so many great people that I love and seen and felt things that I never imagined I would be feeling? Then how much more does God have in store for me? I do not doubt that the next 14 months will be some of the very greatest of my life thus far. My life has been so blessed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also! Alberto was able to re-upload all of the pictures on my camera!! It was a week of miracles. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, time is short, and I have to go, but I have much more to write for the next time. For one, Hna. Najarro has left me! :( She is serving in Managua, and I know she'll see miracles there. She was so darling and spiritual and fun, and I couldn't have asked for a better "mom" on the mission. (Mission lingo is funny. If you're training, you're a parent, and your trainee is your child. If you're completing the mission, you're 'dying.' So, it's common to hear, "Good luck picking up your kids! You guys are going to be great moms!" Or, "Yeah...I just want to die in Matagalpa." haha). But my "hija's" name is Hermana Gonzales, she's only been here for 5 days, and she too is an El Salvadorenian. She's a cute girl with a lot of enthusiasm for missionary work, and I know we're going to see some miracles this month.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
More on all of that later. Love you and praying for you!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Your most precious German,<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-600737749093188222014-01-23T08:55:00.002-08:002014-01-23T08:55:36.646-08:00Sandwishes: Dec. 31, 2013.<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
<br />
<div dir="ltr">
!Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Allow me to say a belated Feliz Navidad, Prospero año y Felicidad.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They made all of the missionaries in my zone put on stupid little elf hats and sunglasses and sing that to the entire stake of Leon, and whomever was supposed to turn off the music after "Feliz Navidad" played three times forgot. So, we ended up singing it SEVEN times (yes. I'm being serious), and by the end of it I couldn't even sing because I was laughing so hard. We just really, really, really wanted everyone to have a Merry Christmas from the bottom of our hearts.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was a weird activity as a whole, honestly. It started off with really loud and dramatic Christmas music and four middle aged women pretending to lip sync (badly) and half-heartedly banging on tambourines in the wrong rhythm. Then we watched a mini-play of the Nativity Scene, in the which Joseph was initially morbidly obese in the 1st act and then replaced by a much skinnier anorexic version. The "angel" was also wearing someone's temple dress. I'm 85% positive. Ah... Nicaragua. Never fails to entertain.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Comical things that have happened in my life recently:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--The annoying "semillas por sol" basket woman has been replaced by a man who yells out what he's selling like the beginning of "The Lion King" movie. Hna. Najarro and I both thought of it at the same time--he has the same intonation of voice. "Laaaaaaa Tortillaaaaaaaa.... come-la-con-pescado...cada mañana.."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--We passed by a big group of men sitting around on a street corner, and one of them yelled out to me as we passed by, "You have now found the love of your life in Nicaragua." I laughed; I couldn't help myself. What a relief. I've finally found the man I've been waiting for and dreaming about.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--Last week an elderly member of the Church bought us hamburgers from a store advertising "hamburguesas y sandwishes." Sandwishes. All of your deepest dreams and desires come true with every bite.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--Texting and driving is a bad idea. Texting and bicyling? That shouldn't even BE an idea. Tell that to the guy who almost hit me today. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--The crazy "drinking juice" guy we pass by everyday stuck his tongue out at me and said "Yo soy el Rey," or, "I am the king" yesterday. You just never know what to expect from him.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--I made one of my worst Spanish mistakes this week. Viento = wind. Ventoso = fart. So when the wind blows really powerfully through the taxi window and completely destroys your hair and you try to say, "Dang it! A huge wind blew in through the window and messed up my ponytail!" but you don't say wind...you will be laughed at.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--I killed a cockroach the size of a playing card house last week. It was classic dramatic irony. Hna. N started telling me about this HUGE cockroach she saw the night before, and what should appear IN OUR HOUSE but said beast?? Hna. N ran away, so it was up to me to save the day. It's fine, though, because poor Hna. N has had a rough go this last week. One night a gecko jumped on her shirt on her way to the bathroom, and another she opened the door and a bat flew into the house. The animal kingdom is out to get her.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This Christmas was, without question, the weirdest I have ever had. Mostly it just didn't feel...real. Surreal is the word. It was Christmas but it wasn't Christmas. I wore a short sleeved shirt all day and was dying of heat. On the 24th we just stopped by various member's houses and went with the Bishop to visit the Centro all lit up at night (because it's a Leon tradition). I've never seen the central so full! (when I say Central, I mean the huge area in front of the beautiful white cathedral that never fails to amaze me every time I see it). It was a fun atmosphere--that pre-Christmas anticipation, the Cathedral lit up from below and lights strung onto the angel resting on the very tippy top. Street vendors and glow in the dark contraptions being shot up into the velvety dark sky, couples holding hands and music and smoky food stands. I bought myself a respado to make up for the lack of fruit soup in my life (a Christmas Eve tradition at home, for those who don't know). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We woke up absolutely exhausted, because the fireworks and loud music from the 24th didn't let up until 5 am. I think around 3 am I was able to doze off, but woke up again at 5and the alarm went off at 6:30 and I wanted to shoot someone. With my nerf gun that I still don't have but decidedly need.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hna. N and I had a peaceful morning. Took our time getting ready, setting up for Skype that afternoon, and I was able to Skype my family at 5 that day! Even though you couldn't see me (so lame, I know), that was the best Christmas present I could have asked for. It was harder than I thought it would be to hang up (really, 40 minutes is nothing), but I'll be seeing you guys before you know it. After Skyping, we played games at a members house and then headed back to our casa. But it was still so early and I was so hungry! No way was I going to let Hna. N and I go to sleep on Christmas Day without an adventure. That just isn't my style. So we escaped to the Centro again and I treated her to Siembras y Cosechas (milkshakes. Yum), and then to Cafe Rosita's for a delicious panini and cake. We were both ridiculously full by the end of it, but it was lovely. We sat on the second terrace by a huge open window, a view of all of the rofos of the houses and the stars twinkling above as our backdrop. It was really great to spend the last hours of the day in that way--I didn't really feel like a missionary that day, but I did spend a lot of quality time with Hna. Najarro. I'm really going to miss her when she leaves.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Speaking of which....Cambios (changes) are coming up on the 7th, and I am anxious. The last meeting we had with President with all of the newbies (self included), he kept saying, elusively and repeatedly, that many of us would be called to serve as trainers in the upcoming weeks, because we're getting 12 new hermanas--which will officially divide our mission 50/50 with Elders and Hermanas. I don't know what's going to happen..but I have this deep sinking feeling that they're going to make me train even though I've only been here for three months. Mark my words. At any rate, we'll all find out next week.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also! This might just be hearsay, but apparently they might be sending norteamericana hermanas to Puerto Cabezas for the first time ever.This is HUGE news, if it's true. Puerto is on the Caribbean coast (reason 1 why I want to go: Cara Behan in the Caribbean say whaaat?), and it is apparently gorgeous. We all want to serve there just because it's the most exotic part of the mission. You take a tiny little plane to get there and can only bring one suitcase with no more than 30 pounds in it (which is practically nothing, when you consider the weight of scriptures and all of the books we have). You live in the jungle on the coast and take bucket showers and are pretty much estranged from everything. You speak Mesquito (an extreme dialect of Spanish--a mix of several languages), and if you're called there, you stay for awhile. It's hard and challenging and exotic and awesome: an adventure. And I'm always up for an adventure.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, we'll see. My dream areas in the mission besides Puerto are Matagalpa or Jinotega, because they're both in the mountains. Hiking every day through the mountains to get to appointments?? I think yes. If President loves me, he will send me there, haha.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In completely trivial news, I tried a new fruit that I'm in love with. It's called "Calala" (so fun to say, right?). It's a yellow fruit the size of a mango, and the inside is filled with tiny seeds encased in little citrusy juice pockets (seeds kind of like a pomegranate, but orange and edible). We had it in juice form and it was delicious.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So to finish up I'm going to be 100% honest here: December was pretty terrible, as far as missionary success goes. I had more than one moment where I thought, "Okay..why is this happening? Am I even supposed to be here?" but I know that God has a plan for me here, which was made manifest this week. After weeks of zero results and rejection and lessons that never resulted in anything (one particular lesson that was awful.. a man who told us that women can't pray, and then proceeded to preach at us for an hour about how God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost are all the same person and how he feels obliged to teach us the truth because he doesn't want God to hold him responsible for our "almas perdidas" = lost souls. Thank goodness Hna. N has an inhuman amount of patience, because it took all of my self control not to smack him upside the head with my umbrella.), we're beginning to see the fruits of our labors. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I read a scripture that week that pretty much sums up what I'm feeling in Alma 26:27: "When our hearts were depressed, and we were about to turn back, behold, the Lord comforted us and said, . . .'Bear with patience thine afflictions, and I will give unto you success." And you guys....it happened. It finally happened. ROGER ACCEPTED A BAPTISMAL DATE AND WILL BE BAPTIZED THIS FRIDAY!!! I realize I haven't really given you much background information on him so this means practically nothing to you, but it is truly a miracle. We have been teaching him since the second week I got here, and of everyone we have been teaching, he has been my favorite (you probably shouldn't pick favorites..but I did. So.) since the beginning. He was a Jehovah's Witness for 12 years and even preached in the streets with them, until one day he realized that it was wrong and didn't know what to do with his life. A few months later, we contacted his dad in the street. And while looking for his dad, we found him. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Roger is a perfectionist. Or "meticulous," as he puts it. Always dressed perfectly, color coordinating, confident, smart. It's fun to watch him with the members at Church, because he's the social one and reaches out to them before they come to him. All of the members love him and have been asking us when he's getting baptized for weeks. It was a process, because if you know anything about Jehovah's Witnesses, it's that they rigorously study the Bible and have much of it memorized. Every lesson was good but a challenge--because he knows his stuff. Particular verses, all of the doctrine...everything. It took awhile for him to accept everything, when he started reading the Book of Mormon, it changed everything. And yesterday after a powerful lesson with some members, he agreed to be baptized.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I can't express to you how happy I am, honestly. Roger isn't "a number in my planner" to say I baptized this week. He's going to be an amazing member and a leader in the Church someday, I am sure of it. I feel so blessed to have been a part of the process at all.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
God loves me and has a plan for me, and that was made evident this week. He loves all of you as well, I can testify of that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, time is out, as always. My sandwish for each and every one of you is that you all had a wonderful Christmas. Mine was...unconventional, but good. If anyone had told me Christmas of last year, "Well, next year you're not going to be home because you're going to be in a little Cafe in Leon Nicaragua with a short El Salvadorian woman drinking a rather delicious milkshake," I don't know that I would have believed them. Life can take you to some pretty crazy places.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
!Les quiero muchisimo!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana Behan / Anna / Dr. Meow / Gatita / Chelita / Reina / Gringa / Caribbean / Your favorite missionary</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-35846686307380705242013-12-20T07:49:00.000-08:002013-12-20T07:49:20.313-08:00Dr. Meow: 20 December 2013<div dir="ltr">
(Sorry this is two days late--we have had problems with internet as well as meetings in Managua that have switched around our schedules. I wrote this Monday but am sending it today. With permission, Dad. No worries. )<br />
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hola familia y amigos!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Rutas + billowy skirts = bad combination. Let's just say Nicaragua saw a whole other side of me today. And I wish I was joking.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I want someone to send me a nerf gun. I want to use it to shoot the pigeons that are always bathing in our sink and also the Testiguos de Jehovah (Jehovah's Witnesses) who keep stealing our investigators. Not even kidding, twice this week we came to our investigators houses to speak with them to find that the Testiguous were there or had already been there. Ugh. The worst.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The good news, however, is that we're actually teaching a former Jehovah's Witness and he is easily my favorite out of all the people we're teaching. His name is Roger (the 23 year-old son of the other Roger I mentioned in one of my other emails), and he's the ray of sunshine here when we're finding nothing in our path but rejection and unfulfilled expectations. He comes to church every week without us passing by, he's reading the Book of Mormon and is going to finish it in several weeks, and we have his baptism set for the 28th of this month. I'll hold off on giving more details until after the 28th, just because if I told you about every single person I thought would get baptized and then never did, all of my emails home would be depressing. But, we'll see, my hopes are definitely high.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also, my wonderful and nerdy mission District finally picked a name for itself, and so (drumroll please), allow me introduce you to.... Distrito Pokemon. Yes, I am now a proud member of District Pokemon, nice to meet you, our revered leader being the dedicated and also somewhat awkward Elder "Bellsprout" Reed from Utah. Everyone was a assigned a Pokemon name, and I am ashamed and also admittedly proud to confess that I still remember all of the Pokemon from my 2nd grade glory days. It was a an entertaining meeting. My favorite assignment was Elder Chub as Pickachub, hahaha. We're dorks. It's fine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For those of you who are members, you are familiar with the concept of "Mormon Standard Time" (which is a guarantee that you will be at least 10 or 15 minutes late, if not more, to any given appointment or meeting). So, there's that, and then there's "Nica Mormon Standard Time", which is, as you can imagine, worse. To give you an idea, we invited several of our investigators to a Church devotional at 6, and they showed up at 7:15 (we planned for that, though, because it actually started at 7. Good call on our part).. I like Latin culture, just because it's laid back and pretty much everyone makes time in the day to take naps, but I can pretty much guarantee that none of our plans will actually happen the time we say they will. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On a random note, we were passing by an elderly couple we walk by every single day reclining in their rocking chairs (they might just be there all day), and when I offered my hand to the old man I realized his hand was abnormally swollen, as if it had been bitten by something. He always calls me "Gatita" (little cat) because I apparently have "cat eyes" (as in, they aren't brown), and when I asked him if he's seen a doctor yet he told me he is awaiting the analysis of "Dr. Meow," aka, me. I'm just getting all sorts of great nicknames here. You know how we do. Salvadora de los Almas and her trusty companion, Dr. Meow, bringing salvation to the people of Nicaragua one soul at a time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There's also a giant Gigatona in the Central of Leon right now. It's literally 5 stories high--its face alone is the size of a car. Quite honestly it's kind of terrifying. A bit of a preview to what the world would be like if it were taken over by humungous Latina Barbie Dolls.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, I am completely out of time this week, but I am thinking of everyone and keeping you in my prayers!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You won't hear from me next Monday either, as we have more meetings in Managua, but some random day in the week you can expect an email. I also get to SKYPE with my family next week!! Aaaahhh!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So excited. Keep being great. Enjoy the snow, I'm just sitting here in the miserable hotness getting a weird tan.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana Behan / Dr. Meow</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-71846349361639340192013-12-10T20:34:00.000-08:002013-12-10T20:34:41.406-08:00I Used My Bugspray as Perfume: 9 December 2013<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
¡Hola familia y amigos!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I used my bugspray as perfume today because our supposedly clean laundry smells like death this week. And if you were wondering, I hate the smell of bugspray. Oh well. I have decided I just don't care anymore, haha.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First of all, I promised I would describe the market scene in my last email, so I'll do that now. The market closest to the Central is the coolest--tons of huge umbrellas in primary colors blocking out the sun for each of the many vendors set up in their little shacks and tents. There are little sections blocked off for each vendor, some shelves bearing nothing but tons of ripe pineapples, huge woven baskets filled with yellow/green oranges (Green oranges. It's a thing.), limes, platanos (Plantains, which I eat every single day here in various forms. Boiled, fried, mashed, cut into strips and dried like potato chips . . . you name it.), bananas, sugar cane, coconuts, fish, crabs crawling around in buckets, gigantic papaya (which I don't really like that much. The outside is yellow tinged with green, and the inside is a deep orange color. The taste is bland. It is, however, good in smoothies), giant bags propped up in rows filled with uncooked rice and various types of beans and spices, and everwhere, everywhere, little bolsitas (little bags) filled with various things. I've seen bolsitas strung up filled with ketchup and mustard and mayonaise, with water, various juices, flour, salt, bike parts, you name it. There's something kind of fun about ducking in and out of the umbrellas, side-stepping rutas and horses and cars and motorcycles and taxis and triculos (a man riding a bike with a two or three person bench behind him on wheels and covered by a little canopy) and other people. You don't wait to cross the road, you just go for it and assume they'll move for you--which they almost always do, but I've had a few close encounters that got my heart racing.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's chaotic, and I love everything about it. Men unloading entire truckloads of green bananas and huge platanos, tossing watermelons like basketballs from one truck to another and then to a third man filling up large buckets. There are always little tiendas and pulperias filled with the most random things. Almost always with long strings of tiny packages of shampoos and chips and candies, and then bread and random lotions and toys and soaps. There is no, "Oh, I need to buy shorts, I'll go to...." such and such, you name the location. It's more like...well, I'm just going to go on a hunt for whatever it is I need until I randomly find it in this little shack on the street corner. It's kind of fun that way, I've decided, but also a bit inconvenient.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Secondly, someone has been blasting Abba songs for the last half hour. My life is random. Mama Mia, anyone?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And Dad, I saw someone walking around a large pig tethered on a string, and I thought of you. Maybe someday your dreams of owning a pet potbelly pig will be realized. If not, you can always come to Nicaragua.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today was a lovely and uneventful P-Day. We went to the Central of Leon to buy batidos (or smoothies) at "Siembras & Cosechas," which puts Jamba Juice to shame, and returned home to write letters. I ordered an orange and pineapple batido, and it was worth the calories (the fruit is fresh from the market and is easily the best I've ever tasted). The menu is interesting, however. There's one milkshake called "La Menstrual," and it includes cinnamon, spinach, and honey, amongst a few other ingredients I can't remember. I'm sure there's some sort of herbal science behind it, but seriously...who names an item of food "The Menstrual"?? "Uh, yes, hi. I'd like to order a large Menstrual, extra spinach. Thanks." Gross.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Spanish and I were not friends this week. For some background information, we had just eaten a TON of food at a member's house (literally so much food. There's the point where you think, "I'm full," and then there's the point where you realize, "If I eat even one more bit of potatoes, I will explode." And they expect you to eat all of it. Be careful what you wish for, right?), and while at Roger's house he enthusiastically greeted us and immediately offered us drinks. We all said cold water would be just fine (because I wasn't planning on even drinking it), but he misunderstood me while asking what I wanted, and it ended up going the exact opposite of what I wanted (not to his knowledge, but Hermana N was dying laughing at me). Our conversation went something like this:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger: "What can I get you to drink? Coco cola? Water? Milk?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: "Water is fine, thank you."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
R: "But do you like milk?"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: "Yes, I like milk, but--"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
R: "Okay! I'll get you some milk then." (and then he leaves the room and returns one minute later.) Would you like sugar with your milk?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: Oh, no, I'm fine. And just a little bit of milk is fine, thank you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
R: Just a little bit of sugar? Okay, coming right up!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He then proceeded to bring me a huge glass of milk with at least a half inch of sugar sitting on the bottom. When he left the room to get their waters we all laughed so hard milk came out of my nose. I give up. No one understands what I'm saying here, haha.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was also trying to tell a family whom we are teaching while they were setting up chairs that if there weren't enough, I would sit on the floor (floor = suelo). But what I actually said is "techo," or, "roof." "Oh it's all good. Don't worry about the chairs, I'll just sit on the middle of the roof." haha They invited me to attempt to climb up there and see how that would go, but I politely declined that offer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The main event of this week, however, occurred this Saturday, which marked what is called La Purisima, the huge "Praise Maria!" grita celebration for all of the Catholics here in Nicaragua. Aka, everyone. People vaguely alluded to it before but I had no idea just how big of a celebration it would be. Here is what I have observed: everyone who is Catholic (like I said, most people) set up extravagant little Maria shrines, as I am dubbing them, Maria being the Spanish version of the Virgin Mary. And considering how poor everyone is here, the set-ups really were quite lavish: giant Maria statues surrounded by tulle and flowers and blinking lights, giant life size paintings of her and set ups, songs about Maria being blasted through the streets and fireworks and firecrackers (ear-splittingly loud. I'm going to go deaf) all day long--the streets are littered with firecracker remains and papers and candy wrappers. The deal is almost like America's Halloween. Everyone visits each other's houses and Maria set-ups, shouts out (grita = shout) "Glory to Maria!" and collects candy and treats. I've never seen so many people in the streets at once. It seemed like everyone was out, a backpack strapped to their fronts to collect their candies, shouting "Maria!" everwhere. It made missionary work virtually impossible. So, we avoided the fireworks and random explosions in the streets and wove our way through the crowds until we finally realized it was pointless and went to grab some dinner at a member's house. And that was that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, almost. That night at about 1 am Nicaragua went insane and everyone became pyromaniacs. Not even exaggerating, for FORTY minutes horribly loud explosive noises went off everywhere in Leon. It was terrible. Initially I thought we were under attack and sat straight up in my bed (it was unreal how loud it was), but we were able to fall back asleep eventually. Thanks for nothing, Maria. I didn't hear the name "Jesus Christ" mentioned even once that day, by the way. For something as seemingly innocent as the Virgin, it's taken tons of people miles from the truth. I've taught three people so far who have accepted Joseph Smith as a prophet and the Book of Mormon as the word of God, but have later refused to be baptized due to the fact that we do not worship Mary. Hermana Najarro got pretty down about it during the celebration, and I can't really blame her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In other news, I was so proud of my English class this week! I teach a group of six boys (ranging from ages 17 to 23), and they come to class every week without fail. This week, they all stayed after class to watch a baptism (not ours, sadly) at the Church. They sang hymns and everything--the group of us made up pretty much everyone who was there. I was so proud. The man who was baptized ended up being baptized three times, due to complications in getting all of him under water (the first time he didn't cover his nose with his hand and kept his arm above water and almost choked, the second time they tried putting a chair in the font but his feet came straight up, and the third time, finally, poor guy, he knelt down and was dunked forwards rather than backwards). Not the most conventional baptism, but the boys all had questions about it and we're actually teaching several of them the Lessons. And, if nothing else, at least they all understand just how important complete immersion is. Third time's the charm. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And lastly, permit me, for a moment, to quote one of my favorite poems by William Wordsworth from his "Ode on Intimations of Immortality":</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hath had elsewhere its setting</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And cometh from afar:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not in entire forgetfulness,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And not in utter nakedness,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But trailing clouds of glory do we come</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From God, who is our home."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although I discovered while visiting his house this summer that he was pretty cocky, I still love Wordsworth. I suppose you're entitled to some measure of egoism when you're brilliant. I just love language in general--piecing it together, forming sentences and ideas and pictures and people. Words are the building blocks of worlds--you can create entire truths and civilizations and realities with a single pen. Anyway, returning to the subject at hand, that excerpt from the poem is found in M. Russel Ballard's "Our Search for Happiness," and I love reading poetry illuminated by Gospel truths. We are not of this world; we were born under a veil, forgetting the world we came from before, a "sleep and a forgetting." It is incredible to me that I can't remember what it was like before, or that one day, when I die, my mind will flood with light and knowledge and truth, and it will be amazing to me that we ever left the presence of God to come here. But this is the glory of the Gospel of Jesus Christ: our sun does not "set" at death--it is the passage into a whole new life of never ending progression. I know that this is true. It is the Plan of Salvation, and I teach it to random people here in Nicaragua every single day. Although we have forgotten, we are not alone on this earth. We have guides to help us back to those "clouds of glory" from whence we came: scriptures, prophets, apostles, and the Holy Ghost, and our ultimate reality will be to live with God, "who is our home." I love that. Not "close to which is our home," but "who is." </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That feeling of "coming home"--being where you're supposed to be with the people you love most, a familiar sensation of comfort and belong flooding your whole being. That is how we will feel with God. And that is one of the many reasons why I love this Gospel. The pains of death have their temporary victories, but those fade and are "swallowed up in Christ." The darkness and obscurity we imagine from a world in which death is the end is penetrated by a glorious beam of truth and dazzling sunlight from Jesus Christ, "the light and the life of the world." And He is. And even if no one accepts me in Nicaragua (which, recently, has been the case), I will proclaim its truth with all my heart. This is why I'm here. Because I know where I came from, I know to whom I belong, I know why I'm here on this earth, and, although my knowledge of it is not complete, I know where I'm going. My life is richly blessed and filled with purpose, and I cannot help but want to share that with the world, with every single person here in Nicaragua. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think I had this unrealistic version that the mission would just be butterflies and rainbows and taking the people's names who are in line waiting to be baptized. And there are many highlights, to be sure, but it is also incredibly frustrating, and at times depressing and overwhelming. It's mostly heartbreak and rejection, honestly. But I know I am never alone. "He is despised and rejected of man...a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief." "The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than He?" (D&C 122:8). I am not greater than He. And when I am at my very lowest points, I know that He is with me to carry me through. He is here to "console us in our afflictions and plead our cause" (Jacob 3:1). I cannot wait for the day to be in his presence, and see the man who Ballard's grandfather dreamed of in a vision. He describes Him as "the most glorious being I could ever conceive of," and writes of his vision, "As I approached He smiled, called my name, and stretched out his hands towards me. If I live to be a million years old I shall never forget that smile." I long to see that smile. He then wrote, "I know, as I know that I live, that He lives. That is my testimony." I wish to echo that testimony. I know that my Redeemer lives. I know it or I wouldn't be here. "He lives and I shall conquer death." I say that in His name, even Jesus Christ, Amen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I love you all! Sorry this email is longer than normal, I suppose I just had much too think about this week. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And hey, Adalberto went to Church for the first time since his baptism yesterday, so, there's still hope.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
¡Les quiero muchisimo!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-10905829372870201222013-12-08T12:04:00.000-08:002013-12-08T14:06:12.177-08:00Two Cats in a Birdcage: December 2, 2013<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
<br />
<div dir="ltr">
<div>
¡Hola familia y amigos!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I would just like everyone to know that dreams do come true. Last week on the night before Thanksgiving I had an abnormally long dream about cake. I was making cake, and eating cake, and walking around in bakeries full of cake...and when I woke up in the morning, well, I'm sure you can imagine, I wanted cake (shout out to Emily Pickett--your chocolate cake at 2 am is still the greatest). Well, my dreams were fulfilled! The woman who makes our lunch, Iris, made four cakes (yes, four) for her daughter's birthday party that day, and I had to help make the cakes (mixing with my hands because they don't have a mixer), and was then given a cake for myself. It was a fat, happy day for Hermana Najarro and I. The cakes here kind of taste like twinkies held together by sweetened condensed milk, and that is fine by me.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
I also had a dream that Bishop Joyner rented a whale for a ward activity (a Humpback, if you were wondering) and we all spent the day sitting on the whale and swimming around it and having a good time. If that dream is realized, it will make my life, haha.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I would say "it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas," but that would be a lie. I have zero concept of time here. Seriously. It just feels like an infernally hot summer that never ends, except now people are putting up Christmas lights to decorate their porches and palm trees and I randomly hear "Feliz Navidad" being played from time to time. I think I prefer the lack of season change, actually, mission wise. Christmas will pass by and not actually feel like Christmas, and I think that will help the inevitable homesickness somewhat. This will be my first Christmas away from my family, which is a weird concept. I also found out that Gigatonas will continue to be on the streets all of December as well. What's weird is that it is no longer weird to find myself faced by a large 12 foot Barbie doll blocking my path. We just deftly side step them and that is that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I still love Nicaragua, although I would be lying if I said their is not a fairshare of heartache associated with missionary work. It's just...rough, to put it lightly, when you know someone knows the truth and for whatever reason falls away. We caught Adalberto, for example (the man we baptized two weeks ago), smoking not even a week after his baptism, and he had told us that he didn't have any problems with smoking. He hasn't gone to church in three weeks, either. :/ I don't really know what to do about it; we pass by his house every day, but lately he's been avoiding us. It's hard, but I have faith that things will start looking up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mostly I just love talking with everyone. I thought I would hate street contacting, just because you're awkwardly putting yourself out there to talk about God with random strangers all of the time, but I think it's my favorite. There was one day when Hna. N and I passed by a man leaning on a store front drinking a coke as we were in search of another person. Just as I was about to suggest to her that we turn back and talk to him, she said, "I have a feeling we should go back and talk to that man." Holy Ghost say whaaat? So we went back and talked to him, and he has been going to Church with us for the last three weeks along with his 23 year old son (they're both named Roger). We have been teaching their entire family for the last few weeks, and they are golden. They're all super intelligent and charismatic, and so fun to teach--if they are baptized, it will be because they're not going to leave. I have a lot of faith that that will happen, and I will let you know! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Funny little blerb for you--Roger (the dad, who is blind in one eye from the Civil War Nicaragua had not too long ago, and always wears tinted glasses) asked us what our first names were. Hna. N explained that we go by "Hermana" on our missions out of respect for the missionary title, and don't normally tell people our first names. He told us he understood completely, because he used the name "Manuel" as a codename in the war to protect himself. He then took it upon himself to give us nicknames. To Hermana Najarro, "Salvadora de los Almas" (Salvadora because she's from El Salvador, and the translation is literally, "Savior of the Souls"), which is quite the title. And my codename (drumroll, please..) is... "Anna." Why Anna? I don't know. Apparently it's his dead great grandmother's name. The contrast between "Salvadora de los Almas" and "Anna" makes me laugh. Couldn't I be Anna de los Angeles, or something?? Oh well. I'll take it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm also amused by all of the crazies we meet here. There's one woman I have dubbed "the bucket lady," because she always carries three or four buckets on each arm full of random things and one bucket balanced on her head, and she walks around the streets talking to herself and moving her arms in weird sweeping circles. I think she has tried putting a curse on us, but, no buckets have plagued my life so far. I'll keep you posted though. I don't know if you recall the man I told you all about who was sitting on the street drinking his juice who said he didn't believe God loved him, but he now yells random things at us everytime we pass by. We never know what to expect. Some days, he yells at us to get out of the country, shouting, "Orgullosas!" or (pridefuls!), and then other days he yells at us "May God bless you, you little Angels! I might just have to steal one of you away, you're so sweet!" I am 100% positive that he is 100% insane. But, it spices up my day somewhat. We we also graced by a solo performance of a drunk man dancing salsa by himself in the street the other day, haha. His hips do not lie. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hna. N and I had a neat experience yesterday. We have been fasting to find more people to teach, and yesterday seemed to be a bit of a failure. We got lost for over 30 minutes trying to find a members house, and I think we power walked at least 5 miles in that span of time just trying to figure out where we were. When we finally figured out where we were, we passed by a young couple in the street. We had already passed by them and the ideal time for talking to them had passed, but an unmistakeable prompting told me, "Go back and talk to them." So, I told Hna. N we were going to turn back and talk to them, and she was all for it. But they were a good 15 feet away at this point, so we had to awkwardly stalk them in the dark (I felt so creepy) until we finally caught up to them, at which point we just kind of silently walked behind them for two or three minutes until one of us had the courage to say something, haha. They didn't stop for us to talk to them, so we kept walking with them and found out that they had both spoken with missionaries on several other occassions before. We invited them to Church and left it at that, realizing that we had backtracked all the way back into the heart of the area we had been lost in not even 20 minutes before. Here's the cool part. As we were pausing in the street trying to figure out what we would do next, a man I hadn't noticed sitting in the shadows called out to us (in Spanish, but I'll translate), "Hey! What church are you from?" we told him, and, come to find out, he had been baptized four years earlier in Mormon church in Costa Rica! He has been living in Nicaragua with his family for three years and hasn't been to Church once, and turns out he's in our area! We didn't even have to invite him to church, he asked for directions and invited himself. Then his non member friend came around the corner and we introduced ourselves, and he said he has decided he would like to come on Sunday as well with his friend! It was just neat because they both invited themselves, which never happens. I hope they actually come this Sunday.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Tried the first thing I have genuinely disliked here: Chicha. It's a bright pink fermented corn drink (there are lumps of corn flower in it) and it is bitter and sickly sweet at the same time and just disgusting. It was hard to drink all of it (Hna. N straight up refused, actually), but I did it. And I am still alive, so, it's fine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Apart from that, there are millions of things I could tell you. I keep everything meticulously recorded in my journal so I won't forget it, but I don't have my journal today. I love Leon. There are two beautiful Cathedrals (the red and yellow one on one side and the iconic white one on the other--my favorite), and we got to take the tower tour of the white Cathedral of Leon today! We were able to clamber all over the ancient domes and collumns on the top of the Cathedral (which is huge) and had an incredible view of the city. I took lots of pictures--I'll send em when I get the chance.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The market life here is crazy and wonderful, I'll write more about it next time. I just love Nicaragua. Okay fine, everyone can come visit me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Thinking of you all and praying for you all!<br />
<br />
Oh, and maybe I should explain the name of this email, huh? Haha. I
never remember what I'm writing about. While we were making cakes Iris
put the two cats they own in a birdcage in the backyard to keep them
from getting into everything. It was so pitiful, watching them clamber
over each other and mewl and try to escape. I couldn't get the image
out of my head...there's just something so ironic about it. Bird cages
are, stereotypically speaking, exactly what cats are always trying to
get into, and here were two of them miserably trapped in one. I feel
that there are greater life parallels here. Maybe a mission metaphor.
I'll think about it and let you know. Maybe I'll write an essay about
it, because I have no life and I actually like writing essays (who says
that, honestly?). Okay, love you all!
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Anna</div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-59252344095971657802013-12-08T12:02:00.001-08:002013-12-08T12:02:13.642-08:00Gigatonas: November 25, 2013<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
¡Hola famila y amigos!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Spanish lesson of the week for you: Foco = lightbulb. Foca = seal (as in, the aquatic animal). When you ask someone who owns a tiny little shop on the street corner if they sell focas, they can and will laugh at you. haha </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't know why I haven't remember to write about this earlier, because it's definitely not a normal tradition: "Gigatonas" (higga-tone-uhs). Every night here for the month of November, people dress up in these giant, 12 foot creepy looking Barbie doll costumes and grace (or plague) the streets of Nicaragua. No one knows exactly why they do it, just that it's a tradition from Spain--I want someone to Google it and tell me. There are at least six or seven Gigatonas in our area in Leon alone; someone steps inside the doll (the person's heas is at about the section of the doll's midriff), and dances around, swaying the doll's long arms and tiered ruffled dress and long, colorful plastic-streamer hair in the process. You always know when one is coming because they're followed by a procession of little boys banging loudly on drums and another boy wearing a giant head of some sort of Hispanic looking man jumping around in circles (he kind of looks like an apish Mexican bobble head). Hermana Najarro and Rosita (the member here who goes out and teaches with us almost every day--more on her later, she's awesome) have decided the Gigatonas are my descendants, because they're the only things here that are taller than me. One Hermana in our district is terrified of them (she actually runs away when she sees one coming, haha). But apart from the fact that the drums are annoying because you can't hear anything when they pass by, I think it's a fun tradition.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
We had a reunion with all the sister missionaries in Managua last week and ended up having to stay the night. It was so much fun sleeping over in what I have dubbed "The Girl's Camp House," all of us in our pajamas huddled up on one bunk bed talking about plans for the future and swapping mission stories. We found out that we're getting 12 new sister missionaries in two weeks, and the implications for that are huge, because there are no free sisters currently available to train. Which means that I will most likely be a trainer shortly after I am trained. I don't know exactly why but I just feel like I am going to be a trainer wayyy earlier than I am ready to be. We'll see. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've decided my entire experience here is kind of like Girls Camp as well. You're happy and experience a secret sense of fulfillment from/by embracing your inner wild woman, nature-dwelling self, but you're mortified by any pictures taken of you because they are all automatic blackmail, you feel disgusting, and you smell weird..which is my life, everyday. I woke up with 8 big bites on my left foot and a smudge of dirt on both knees from kneeling on the ground last night, and I honestly don't even care. It's so refreshing to be somewhere where they don't judge you by the clothes you're wearing or how awful your hair looks that day. I love that when I walk out of my front door every morning and walk down the street, I'm going to get waved at and smiled at and wished "Que les vaya bien!" and "Adios!" by practically everyone I see.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm sure I could handle it if I was called somewhere less open and loving, but I think God knows exactly what I need. I love Latin American culture. As I have said earlier--it's just warm and vibrant and alive. The sound of salsa and guitar spicing up the streets at night, the smoke wafting from cooking fires, brown bodies glistening with sweat from a rigorous game of street soccer. They have nothing but they have everything.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Every morning I wake up to a cacaphony of various sounds--a chorus of roosters crowing at 5 am, dogs barking, angry sounding birds squawking and scratching the roof about our heads with their feet, motorcycle engines roaring by, bells jingling from various venders, and the loud and very persistent woman selling "semillas del sol" from a basket on her head. This morning, I was kept up for three hours (yes, three) by a cat somewhere right outside of our window that I'm convinced must have been dying, because there is no other reason why any animal should whine that loudly for so long. Normally, I love cats. This morning, I hated them. I'm not sure I would be able to sleep in here even if I was given the occasion to.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I tried "cosa de horno" last week as well. It's like...solidified pudding, which has an aftertaste of sweet cheese. Not my favorite, but I didn't hate it, either.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My Spanish has a long way to go but I am definitely improving every day and receive lots of compliments (I got asked if I was from Spain this week and had a Latina sister tell me she didn't realize when she heard me talking I was American until she looked up and saw me, woo hoo!). Hna N says I say "Adios" like a Nica, too. I didn't realize until she pointed it out, but Nicas say "Adios" followed by a little "Hnn" sound. it's barely perceptible but now I always notice it. I feel that Spanish is like a big, colorful puzzle. I've begun to fill out the edges and corners, but I haven't even begun working on the bigger picture in the middle. I'm excited for the day when I wake up and finally feel fluent, if it will ever come.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Apart from that, we're just working hard everyday to teach people about the Gospel even when they are adamant believers of their own religions or believe in nothing at all (which is more rare here than in the US, but still a problem). There are two types of Catholics here: The ones who say they are Catholic but don't actually believe or know their own doctrine, and the ones who are the stubborn, "I was born Catholic and I will die" Catholics who won't listen to us. One such man tried explaining to me that little children are born with sin the "moment they open their eyes" from their parent's transgression by having sex. So we asked him if his two year old son sitting on his lap was a sinner, and he adamantly said yes, and without baptism he would go to hell. I guess I will just never understand that one. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Evangelicos here are good people and they make me laugh with how dedicated they are. Hermana Najarro offered a prayer with one of our Evangelico investigators last week, and during the prayer and after everything she said, the man said, "O Gracios, Dios!" and "Asi es," and "Amen!"; The more he liked a part of the prayer the louder he got. It was pretty great, even though I almost started laughing and Hermana N grinned the whole prayer. It was very Southern Baptist Preacher, "Can I get an Amen?? HALLELUJAH my brothas and sistas! Thank you Jesus!" and then a black choir in robes breaks out of nowhere into clapping and singing and waving their arms and praising the Lord.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love my investigators. I'm teaching one awesome guy who grew up in the Caribbean and has the coolest Jamaican accent. He speaks English, too, which is such a relief if I don't know how to say something in Spanish. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And, I am out of time so that is that. Enjoy Thanksgiving this week for me! Engorge yourselves on food and then take a really long nap. Hermana Najarro has never tried nor heard of a pumpkin, if you can believe it. Maybe I'll make myself a turkey sandwich or something, with rice, because that is apparently all they eat here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero muchisimo!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-29487686694341506482013-12-08T12:00:00.000-08:002013-12-08T12:00:03.213-08:00FIRST BAPTISM (and Pupusas!): November 18, 2013<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
¡Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
Recently I have just been entertained by the things tell me in English. There are two words for white-girl here, "Chela" and "Gringa," and I respond to both respectively. My favorite occurrence this week was with a possibly intoxicated man with a mustache sitting on the street corner, who called after me (imagine your best low, dumb beefy-guy voice), "Chela. I lohve yoo fohreverr." Hna. Najarro says that to me almost every day now. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What I find entertaining is that many people will say things to me in English just because they know how to say them. For example, a man on a bike turned around to declare loudly, "It is hot." Yes, yes, it is. Thank you. Or, "Byeeee!!!" haha The graffiti here is equally as funny. Just random words in English that don't really mean anything. "You are a boy." "Cool man." "It is here." Whatever "it" is, it wasn't there. The building it was written on was abandoned long ago. <br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
There's a particular house we pass by every day, and every single time without fail, someone makes loud lip-smacking kissing noises at us. One day we forgot something at the house and had to turn back, and they did it twice in the span of ten minutes. It's kind of like walking in through a store that has a bell on it. I was kind of tempted to just keep walking back and forth to see how long they would go at it. Maybe one day I will. But anywho, I digress.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sunday was a day of miracles, truly, and I FINALLY HAD MY FIRST BAPTISM!! I have been ambiguously writing that "We're going to have a baptism!" and have been disappointed every time. Adalberto has cancelled three times on us, and each time has been a huge let-down. He wants to be baptized, he just wouldn't commit for some reason--his excuses were always random and, frankly, unnecessary. This Sunday was no different. We had his baptism planned for 8 am, and even passed by his house the night before to remind him, and he seemed excited about it. 8 o'clock came and went, then 9...no Adalberto. Hna. N called him, and he said he was "finishing up some cleaning" and would arrive at the chapel in half an hour. The problem with that is that church starts at 10, and his "half an hours" always end up being longer. So, Hna. N determined that we would walk to his house, which is a good mile away from the church to help with cleaning if needed and get him ourselves. We arrived at 9:15, and he wasn't home. Not to be deterred, we called again (sometimes I feel like we're like those telemarketers that just never go away..except we happen to be selling salvation and eternal happiness), and found out that he and his wife were at Pali (the only grocery store here) shopping. So, naturally, we decided to power walk/run another mile to Pali and meet him there. We caught him just as he was about to leave the check-out line, drove with him and his wife in the car to put away all of the groceries, and then drove with him to the church at approximately 9:45 am, 15 minutes before church. We sang a hymn, someone bore their testimony, and, FINALLY, Jose Adalberto Delgado was baptized, with five minutes before church to spare. It was so amazing to finally, finally, finally (and one more finally, because it was the 4th attempt), see him come out of the water completely clean. All of the disappointment and waiting paid off, and he was practically glowing he was so happy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That same day, we had a good 8 other people who promised to show up at church, and it looked like none of them would come. But, slightly late, three of them came and stayed for more than the first hour! It was a day of miracles for us--the previous Sunday we had a glorious zero number of investigators at church with us. Patience and determination (a lot of it. We chased the man practically all around Leon) really pay off. If we hadn't gone the extra mile (ha, extra two, actually), this would be just another week without a baptism. I was grateful for Hna. Najarro for taking matters into our own hands, and I was grateful to God for the miracle. We really needed it...it has been a rough couple of weeks here as far as finding and teaching are concerned (and Julio Blanco up and left randomly on a 2 week vacation the day before his baptism, so..that was awesome). Ya can't win 'em all, but I promise I'm trying my hardest in spite of the many frustrations and disappointments we experience here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also, whoever told me I was going to lose weight on my mission is a liar and a jerk. I have been privileged to serve with an El Salvadorenian companion, and this week she taught me how to make Pupusas! I made at least 15 of them, because we ended up making them twice in the span of two days for two different families. Amd yes, I will admit the first three were comically tragic in their appearance, but by the end of it, I was getting many compliments, and was given permission by Iris (the woman who makes our lunch) to get married upon my return. Ah, finally, permission! If you are having trouble in your dating efforts, make Pupusas, the secret necessity to appear more desirable. Ugh..they're so good, and so bad for you. They're kind of just like savory pancakes/thick tortillas stuffed with mozarella cheese (which we bought fresh from a queseria and kneaded into more of a doughy texture ourselves--mom, your favorite kind of cheese, but like 2 lbs of it), chicken, and beans (or various combinations of those, heavy on the cheese), with a flour and water tortilla dough. You just knead the dough into a bowl shape, fill it with whatever you feel like, pinch it together, pinch of the excess, mold it into a circle so the center is evenly distributed, dip it in olive oil and smack it flat. I am a pro now. I'll make them for everyone when we get back, and we can all be happy and fat together.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also!! If we hadn't had a baptism this would have been the title of my email home: Lychees. For anyone that knows me really well, you know that my favorite fruit (besides cherries) are Lychees, but I have only ever been able to eat them canned because they are imported from Asia. Okay, this made my life this week. Every time we pass through the busy market place here, I have noticed these weird, red fruits the size of walnuts in large baskets. They're so weird looking--they have spidery-tendrils shooting out in all directions that give them a spiky apperance, and I had no idea what they are. I decided to buy one and try it last week, and after figuring out how to remove the spiky shell, I was amazed and shocked to find that the weird fruit, called "Mamones de China" here, are actually LYCHEES!!!! And they sell for only one cordoba each (less than one cent, happy day!). Needless to say, I bought some right away and demolished them before the end of the day. SO much better fresh, and apparently they grow them right here in Leon. Hna. Howell and Hawkins dislike them because they say they are the same consistency as eyeballs (which is true), but I don't even care. There are Lychees in Leon, and this is exactly where I am supposed to be. If you haven't tried Lychee before, I invite you to search out your nearest Asian market and try them. I would describe the taste, but it is unlike anything else I've ever tried (kind of like trying to explain to someone what an apple tastes like if they've never tried one). Let me know how that goes for you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The cockroaches fly here. Yes. I am being serious. Why did God make cockroaches that can fly? I don't know. But they do fly and we experienced what I am titling "The Great Cockroach Chase" this week. Every time our house gets fumegated, they go insane trying to get out of the house. So here's the situation: five cockroaches, two missionaries (well...more like one missionary who is a trained mosquito-assassin, and another shorter latina one cowering in the corner screaming), three shoes. I won the battle. There was much shouting, strategem, the sacrifice of a shoe that may or may not have been accidentally thrown out of a window, and, by the end, I came out conquerer. And Hna. N killed one, so, may that be noted as well.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There's also a bout of lice spreading through the ward, as well as a local virus called "The Gripe" (gree-pay). I have the Gripe, unfortunately, but I am hopeful it will be gone by the end of next week--it's just like the common cold, and I'll be fine. I do NOT, however, have lice. I cannot explain to everyone just how much of a fear I have of getting lice. I would almost rather shave my head than have lice, and I am not even kidding. Pray for me, please. I will take any number of sicknesses and cockroaches any day over lice. Gah. Why.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Nica fact: They point to things with their lips. At first I just thought it was people making awkward puckering faces as a way to start a conversation, but now I get what they're doing. Sometimes I do it too, although it never feels natural. Try talking to someone by pointing at things with your lips, it's a different sensation.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We had an oddly busy but unconventional day this past Sunday as well. We met with the Bishop with the Elders Ayala (the only two Elders who share our area who happen to have the same last name. I can't get over it. One is from Los Angeles and the other from El Salvador. Ayala is such a unique name, too. Anyway.), to discuss the ward and our individual areas, and ended up having an adventure that took us all around Leon. The four of us (and Mynor, the hilarious 1st Councilor) crowded into the Bishop's old beat up car, and accompanied him on a tour of both of our areas. We drove places I've never even seen before that have apparently been in our area the whole time (Hna. N didn't know either). The further out we drove, the landscape became increasingly more rural, and, likewise, increasingly more poor. I love the brightly colored house and cobblestone streets here, but it was refreshing to be on dirt roads out in the middle of nowhere, endless expanses of greenery and palm trees and little shacks and clotheslines hung with laundry banking us on both sides, a light, misty rain fogging up the car window. We stopped periodically to meet with less active members or other who needed blessings, and it was neat to feel the spirit and attitude of a house change as the Elders gave blessings or dedicated the houses accordingly. I really loved it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The very last house we visited however, if you can even call it a house, was easily the poorest place I have ever been. I'm kind of amazed we even made it so far out in the Bishop's car, because it would sputter and die periodically and we would be stranded on a steep muddy road surrounded by nothing but banana leaves and cows. But, miracles happen, and we successffully made it to our final destination. I don't know their names. I just know that their "house" was about the size of, or mayve slightly smaller than, our garage back home. It was composed about halfway of dark gray cinderblock walls, but the gaps in the outer concrete shell was filled in with pieces of scrap metal or car hoods. The roof was made of tin and tarp, and the "rooms" in the house were divided by soggy pieces of cardboard. The floor was mud, and there was one solitary flickering lightbulb that cast a sickly yellow-pallor over everyone standing in the middle of the room. When the six of us came in, the woman of the house jokingly said, "I would offer you all chairs, but we have none." Everyone laughed at this statement, but I think it might have been the saddest thing I have ever heard. The "kitchen" was just a small cooking fire on the floor next to the entranc, and a medium sized, wet looking log made up the only furniture. There little boy, who was sick (maybe 12 years old), sat on a jug full of water so the Bishop could give him a blessing. Afterwards, the woman proudly showed us a few poor quality family photos she had and certificates signifying various accomplishments. I found it so...I don't even know..interesting? Endearing? Admirable? that when the people here have nothing else, they rely more than ever on their families.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Leaving that home, we passed by a group of homes even more poor. Four sheets of scrap metal and tarp roofs, the Nicaraguan equivalent of American trailer parks. I don't even know what to think about it, to be honest. I don't think I can even comprehend that that is literally all they have. Four metal walls. The size of a tool shed or smaller. And driving by, they smiled and waved, happy even in complete poverty. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I guess I have just been feeling every day I have spent here that the Lord wants me to learn from these people, and honestly, I have been learning so much more from them than I have taught them. The majority of the people here have awkwardly posed, blurry photos of family members poorly photo-shopped onto lavish backgrounds displayed proudly in their homes in plastic picture cases. Many of those "lavish backgrounds" were just normal living rooms, but the kind I have never seen here (unless you count President Collado's house, which is incredible). It made me think a lot about the many "mansions in heaven" that have been promised for the faithful after this life. Don't get me wrong, I would love a mansion, and look forward to that, if I successfully "endure to the end" in this life. I can easily say materialism is one of my many faults. But after being here, after being in that one roomed, dank house in the middle of nowhere Leon with those people who are faithful in spite of how little they actually hvae, I can easily say that when I die, I want to be with the Nicaraguans (and my family, of course), and I want to see their faces when they are granted these "mansions in heaven." I am more excited for them than I am for myself, honestly. I don't know. It's something I hadn't given any thought to before, but I look forward to that day for them alone. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I guess there is really no such thing as having "too little" when you have the Gospel. I can say with full conviction that I would not teach the Law of Tithing (giving up 10% of your income) to these people if I did not absolutely know the blessings we receive from that. How do you ask someone who makes maybe $20 a month to give up even $2 of that to the Church? I imagine the people wondered the same from the Widow and her mite. Any number of people can donate money and give of what they have, and in the Bible, the parable states that many men gave many riches. But it was the Widow and her Mite (hardly worth anything) that meant the most to the Lord.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hope everyone takes a moment this week just to look around you, be you in a tiny dorm in Utah or warm and safe at home in whatever state you live in, and consider just for a tiny second how blessed you actually are. I'm not trying to be on my soap-box saying everyone should be guilty for what they have--just to consider how much we actually do have every single day without even really realizing it. I never realized just how blessed and priviliged I have been my whole life until coming here. There aren't even words, honestly. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love Nicaragua. I love being a missionary. I may have written this before, but there is just something so fulfulling about putting on my nametag every morning, getting ready to conquer the day. I would not be here if I didn't feel with everything that I have to offer that this Church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, is true. The only true and living Church on the earth today. And somehow or other, we have been blessed enough to know about it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I was struck by the comment of one person we contacted in the street this week when we testified that today there is a living prophet, the same as there was in Christ's day. They said, "I cannot believe I never even knew." There are people everywhere who have no idea just what they're missing out on, and more than anything, I've been feeling the pressure and the responsibility to just let people know about the Gospel, even if they won't accept it. And even if and when they don't accept it (we are rejected more often than accepted), I think of Christ, who even while on the earth was "despised and rejected of men...a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief." Every little disappointment we experience in our lives He atoned for and experienced. He knows us, and He knows what we are capable of. Even if I can do no more than love the people here and invite them to know the truth, that is enough.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, out of time as usual--I have some funny stories for next week. Les quiero mucho! I pray for you all every night, I hope you know that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love you forever,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-74044913414353819902013-12-08T11:57:00.003-08:002013-12-08T11:57:49.277-08:00Attack of the Insects: November 11, 2013<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
¡Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I. Hate. Insects. I hate them hate them hate them. And this week, they were out to get me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I killed ten huge cockroaches in our house this week. TEN. All the size of tablespoons or larger. Ugh....I don't even want to know how many are actually in our house. And then we picked up our laundry from Johanna's house across the street and returned to our house, I noticed some food or something had been spilled onto the mesh laundry bag, and ALL of my clothes were just teeming with these tiny little ant/weevil like insects. I know it's silly and dumb, but I just...cried. hahaha I just feel so disgusting here, all of the time. I love nature and being outdoors, but I also like to smell good and feel clean, and here I just feel so GROSS all of the time. My hair is gross, my skin is gross, I smell weird, my clothes smell weird, there are ants all over my books, and now a little colony of new friends that live in my clothes. I needed a minute to compose myself, and then I was fine. I still love it here, no worries.<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
We did some yard work for one of our investigators, Julio Blanco (we always refer to him by his full name, not sure why. Maybe because it sounds like the name for someone in a soap opera) this week, who lives directly next to the Church. All we did was move a pile of really long sticks to an upright tee-pee shape under a nearby tree before the rain hit. It started to rain slightly but wasn't too bad, except for the fact that the sticks were crawling with ants! We didn't realize right away, and Hna. Najarro had 15 or more ants fall straight onto her face and all over her clothes. We kept finding ants on random places on our bodies utnil 6 pm. Bleh. My greatest insect story this week, however, occurred at two in the morning two nights ago.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, I'm not one to usually have nightmares, but for the last week, that is all I have had. Every night (including one dream where all I did all night was work out math problems, which is, for me, a nightmare) a new night mare. Two nights ago, the dream was worse than usual. I woke up with my heart pounding at 2 am and didn't know why, but was eventually able to coax myself into falling back asleep. In my dream, someone was breaking into our house and sneaking into our room. Just as I was dreaming that he entered our room, <b>something </b>jumped on my shoulder. In my dream it was the man grabbing my shoulder, but, in reality, something had actually landed on me. Before I even realized what had happened, I heard someone yelling, "OH MY GOSH, OH-MY-GOSH, OHMYGOSH!!!" and realized it was ME! I had also literally jumped from my bed to Hermana Najarro's without consciously doing so, and had curled up next to her in the fetal position sobbing. I was completely irrational at that time in the morning, apparently. I tried to explain to her what had happened in broken Spanish, and she turned on the light to identify the culprit of my scare. I had no idea what it would be--it was pretty heavy when it landed on me. A gecko? A mouse? Cockroach? Something worse? Hermana Smith? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I moved my sheets aside and there it was, the biggest grasshopper I have ever seen in my life. I know...not exactly scare worthy, but it was seriously half the size of a graham cracker! (haha, I just realized how pathetic that sounds. I woke up crying because a bug smaller than a graham cracker jumped on my shoulder). Anyway, I scooped it up with my sheets and threw it out of the window, and that was that. After that it was hard to fall asleep, but around 5 am, I finally did. But man....I really resented insects this week. How did it even get into our house?? We live on the third floor! That is what I want to know.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, moving on to better things....</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I taught my first English class this week! Every Saturday from here on out at 4, I will be teaching English (mostly to non-members), as a way to do service as well as invite more non-members to church. I ended up having eight students this week, which I thought was a pretty good turnout. English class is entertaining for them because my Spanish isn't that great, and entertaining for me because, all levels of English aside, their pronounciation is terrible. I had them repeat after me, "I like your shirt," and, bless them, they have a really hard time pronouncing the "r" in shirt, and it was really, really hard not to laugh. Most of them got it, eventually, except for Fernando, but I think that might have been intentional on his part.</div>
<div>
<br />
(Warning: the next part of this paragraph is not suitable for children). The other incident involved the word "morena," or "brunette" in English. I wrote the word morena on the board and asked if anyone could translate the sentence "Yo soy morena" into English, the correct answer being, "I am a brunette." Luis raised his hand, and in a questioning voice said, "I am a nigger?" hahaha I don't even think it's appropriate to write home about this, but everyone started laughing. No, Luis. You are not, in fact, [that word]. I explained that the "n" word is highly offensive in the U.S., but..yeah. It proved to be a rather..colorful..English class.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We actually got to eat dinner several times last week (woo hoo!) with one of our newly converted members, Francel, and her mother, Patricia, who is not a member and makes tortillas for a living. It is so fascinating to watch her work--she's a pro. She can have a conversation with us while keeping eye contact and simultaneously knead out the tortilla dough with water, quickly and deftly divide it into perfectly shaped dough balls, pinch off the excess, and smack it down into a pristine circle, all in 15 seconds or less. Then it's onto the stove top over the fire. We ate a thick, warm tortilla, beans, and a weird cheese I've never had before. It kind of has a sour aftertaste to it and is crumbly and pretty strong, but not too bad. That night I just experienced one of those surreal moments where you look around at your surroundings and can hardly believe where you are. Sitting under a tiny tin roof in the pouring rain in Nicaragua, eating tortillas near a steaming pot of corn boiling for the tortillas for the next day. It is such a different world here, but a great one.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<div>
Turns out I might be in Leon for a really long time. The previous Mission President here rotated missionaries every three or four months, but Pres. Collado prefers us to stay longer to make more of an impact with the people here. So, I am fairly confident I will be here for 6 months, at least. Initially I was kind of disappointed, just because I want to see as much of Nicaragua as I can, but the longer I'm here, the more I love it. I love the people, the location, the city, the food--this is exactly where I am supposed to be.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Nicaraguan fact: I don't know why, but everyone uses bags here to drink from. Hermana Najarro and I love to buy "Bolsitas," or little half frozen bags of milkshakes from a woman named Francisca--our favorite is "mani," or peanutbutter. You just bite off one corner and enjoy (they're pretty small, tiny enough to fit in my palm), and cost 3 cordobas. We calculated that 25 cordobas is one dollar, so 3 cordobas is about 7 cents. The ruta only costs 4 cordobas, about 8 cents, and taxis are 20 cordobas per person (not even a dollar). Apart from the fact that fruit and cereal is ridiculously expensive, life here is pretty cheap. So, in short--everyone go buy a peanutbutter blizzard at DQ and think of me. You can even put it in a glad bag if that would make you happy. And while you're at it go sit in a sauna to make the experience more authentic. Maybe even sneak some ants into the lap of the person sitting next to you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Other Nica Fact: They refer to things as "the ley" (or, "the law") when they're really awesome. It's kind of like the Spanish equivalent of the English phrase "It's the bomb." They also use the word Tiuanis (Tee-wan-ees) to describe something that is cool or neat or that they like (sort of interchangeable with the use of "that's sweet" or "that's sick" in English). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Another fact is concerning hand shakes. Nicas will shake your hand, but if they're doing something with one hand or it is dirty, they'll either offer you their wrist, other hand, or even elbow if necessary. So I have shaken quite a few forearms and elbows in my time here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I love our investigators, but they are quite an interesting bunch of individuals. Adalberto (an older man who reminds me slightly of one of those huge, ancient turtles you see in zoos) cancelled his baptism for the third time last week and we have no idea why. Everytime we talk to him he seems genuinely excited for his baptism, but then there's always some weird excuse when it actually comes time to go through with it. This last time, we had the font filled and speakers ready and everything, and he never showed. Hermana Najarro cried, but I wasn't expecting him to show up for some reason and so was fine. Hopeful for this week, but I'll let you know next Monday what ends up happening.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After we finished the service for Julio Blanco, we taught him a lesson about the Word of Wisdom and Law of Chastity. We saw him smoking the other day, but when we asked him if he smokes, he denied it and says he hasn't in years. We committed him to follow the W.O.W. from here on out, and we're hoping he actually stops smoking so he can prepare for his baptism on the 17th. The funny thing is that we assumed the Law of Chastity wouldn't really be applicable to him, because he is 73 years old--his glory days are over. In fact, I have never seen his teeth and am not entirely sure that he has any. But, come to find out, Julio Blanco is a PLAYER! He has a girlfriend who is only 22 years old!! 22!! He is old enough to be her grandfather! He says they have no Chastity issues (uh..hallelujah), and are planning on getting married. I find it creepy and hilarious. I need to meet this girlfriend of his to believe it for myself.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, there are many more but I am completely out of time. I love you all and love hearing from you! More to come next week,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero muchisimo!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-32048897361276851782013-12-08T11:54:00.002-08:002013-12-08T11:54:50.196-08:00Taxi Mishap: November 4, 2013<div dir="ltr">
<br />
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Story time!! I have so many stories for you this week, I hope I have time to write them all down. The smallest of which is that, for the first time in my life, I saw a chicken cross the road. It was an oddly pensive moment for me. All of those "why did the chicken cross the road" jokes took on a whole new meaning. And, if you were wondering, the chicken actually sprinted across the road to avoid being squashed by a motorcycle. Now you know.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
Okay, first of all, for whatever reason this week I have had two rather interesting encounters with taxis. The first happened on our way back from a Zone Meeting in Managua. We had to squash 6 of us into 4 seats, so I had Hna. Hawkins on one knee and Hna. Howell on the other. It was only going to be a ten minute car ride to the terminal....but then the taxi randomly sputtered and died in the middle of the street. We all looked at each other wondering, "What in the world is going on?", our taxi driver mumbled something about gas, didn't say ANYTHING to us (for example: "I'll be back soon, hang tight"), and he literally hopped out of the driver's seat, immediately got into a different taxi, and drove away. I busted up laughing because it was just so ridiculous. The worst part is that all of the doors have some weird child-lock and he took the keys. So...the six of us were trapped in a hot taxi in the middle of a 4 lane street in Managua (aka, chaos central), stranded like sitting ducks in the middle of the highway! Horses and carts almost hit us, school buses almost hit--all we did to pass the time was take funny pictures of ourselves and speculate what we would have done with the taxi had he left the keys. I believe our plan involved driving to Costa Rica to visit Hna. Salinas (she's hilarious). Anywho, he eventually returned 25 minutes later, bearing gas for the car. When we finally got moving again, we passed by the same crazy vendors in the street as before, and were witnesses of a man casually pilfering a live chicken from a stall. I can't say I've ever been tempted to steal a live chicken, not entirely sure what I would do with it, but I suppose you have to be pretty desperate to resort to those measures.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Taxi Story Numero 2: At the Zone Meeting, I was given a big fat manilla envelope full of letters from my family. I was so excited--the next day was my birthday (21 woo woo), and I was waiting to open the letters for the morning. Well..here is the sad part of this story. In the chaos of changing taxis and handing my backpack to another Hermana to make room for Hna. Hawkins on my lap, I placed the envelope on the back of the seats behind us.....and forgot about it completely when we left to get papusas (more on those later. Yum) for dinner. <br />
</div>
<div>
I didn't notice right away. But then I did and quite frankly I was devastated. I had so been looking forward to reading them on my birthday, and it seemed like a lost cause. There are hundreds of taxis in Leon, and they can go anywhere and everywhere. I've never had the same driver twice. I doubted I wold ever see the taxi driver or envelope again, and, I couldn't help myself, I started to cry.</div>
<div>
<br />
Here is the cool part of the story. I don't usually initiate conversations with taxi drivers, but with this man, I did. I asked him his name, where he lived, about his family and religion, and he gladly answered before we left the taxi. I didn't realize it at the time, but by talking to him we were able to remember all of his information and write it down. And here is the miracle!! Two of the Elders that were with us at the restaurant called that very night and were able to find it! I have no idea how they did it so quickly, especially because he didn't live close by to us, but I am so grateful. It really was a mini miracle, "Hey, God loves you" moment for me. There are just so many taxis here, and it so easily could have been jus another taxi ride without talking to the driver. But miracles do happen and it was the best birthday gift I could have asked for.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, apart from that, my birthday was great, and I am old! Fun day in another Zone Meeting (we had two this week, kind of weird), and I CAN'T BELIEVE I AM 21 WHY IS THIS HAPPENING. I was feeling slightly homesick, just wondering what everyone was up to this Halloween, Sammy and James trick-or-treating, the fall weather...all of it. Honestly if I didn't have a watch with the date on it I would have no idea what day it is, because no one (apart from Hna. Howell) even mentioned Halloween. So, no, I didn't dress up. Although I was tempted to cover myself in nutella and parade around as a Nicaraguan. Maybe then they would stop whistling and blowing kisses at me all day long, haha. Anywho, just as I was feeling a bit homesick, I was pleasantly surprised by a beautiful birthday cake from a woman in the ward who does our laundry, Yohanna, and the Elders in our District. We all enjoyed the cake (Elder Ayala shoved my face in it, in fact. I'll send pics later), and it was good to feel like I have people here who care even when I'm so far away from my family. The greatest part was Yohanna only had two old dilapidated number candles, 8 and 5. So, we celebrated my 85th birthday! I'd say I look pretty darn good for my age. It's the Word of Wisdom, my friends. The secret to eternal youth.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm getting darker and darker every day. And, in contrast, the parts of me which never see the sun (which are many) are getting whiter and whiter. When I saw Hna. Howell for the first time after a week, she commented, "You're a black man!" Not sure why man had to come into that, but whatever. Now everyone we meet asks if I'm Italian, haha. They also tell me I have cat eyes, whatever that means.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And now for some fun Nica facts and stories:</div>
<div>
<br />
--We were teaching Adalberto (our investigator who is getting baptized this week...we hope. He cancelled twice on us which is why I haven't written about it yet) in his house and all of a sudden there was a loud smacking sound--a little gecko had fallen from the ceiling about two feet away from me onto the floor. What made me laugh is that no one else in the room reacted or said anything. There was the gecko...just chillin. In any other situation I feel like people would have freaked out. But nope. It just slithered away and that was that.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--Yesterday we saw a really skinny man carting around an abnormally large woman on a spindly bike that looked like it might fall apart any minute.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--Nicaraguans casually refer to people as "Gorda," or fat. We were looking for the house of one of our investigators, and so asked several of the neighbords for directions. The conversation went like this:</div>
<div>
<br />
"Do you know where Nadiri lives?" They reply,</div>
<div>
<br />
"Si, la gorda?" Or, "Yes, the fat one?"</div>
<div>
<br />
"Um....yes. The fat one." I hope I don't get fat here or I'll probably be called Hermana Gorda.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--While looking for that same woman, you know, the fat one, we chanced upon a really old woman standing by her front door. Classic old lady. Apron, hair pulled back into a granny bun, no teeth--lips that curve over her gums, faded, watery eyes. 100% deaf. We tried talking to her, and asked her, "Hola, como esta?" literally (no, seriously), five times. After each time, she loudly shouted, "HUH?!" so we kept repeating the question, and she kept replying HUH. We went back and forth several times in this fashion until we gave up. I guess it was one of those "ya had to be there" moments, but we thought it was so funny.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--We walked up to three people standing on the side of the road and discovered their names were Domingo (Sunday), Jesus, and Angel. I thought that was really funny so I introduced myself as Hermana Iglesia (or, Hermana Church), you know, so we could have Church on Sunday with Jesus and the Angels. I got a pity laugh but that was it. No one thinks I'm as hilarious as I do. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--Never found the Gorda, by the way. Just a couple of Evangelicos who wanted to Bible bash for an hour. I hate it when people talk AT you and not with you. Sigh..we need more faith. We just haven't had luck finding new people to teach lately.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--Tried to teach a man sitting in the shade on a lawn char earlier this week that God loves him, and it was so funny. He definitely wasn't mentally all there. He didn't believe that God loves him or that we know Him because we haven't seen him, even though he goes to Church every Sunday. We asked him, "If you could change anything about your life right now, what would you change?" and he said, "I just like sitting in the shade and drinking my juice." "So, you wouldn't change anything?" "No." "Well, hermano, we just want to testify that God loves us and knows each of us individually---" (he interrupts) "No no no no no, mentiras." Mentiras = lies. He kept saying no x5 and muttering mentiras. Hna. Najarro almost started laughing. I've never met someone who goes to church every week who has such a hard time with the concept that God loves us. Oh well. He'll find out someday. In the meantime, he has his juice.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--Nicaraguans say Pepsi as "Pexi", and, as mentioned previously, they LOVE ketchup. When you order pizza here (we got some at the zone meeting), it comes with packets of ketchup in place of garlic or marinara or something normal. They squirt it all over the pizza and eat it. Shout out to Tiffani Emery--I have found your people! (Tiff loves ketchup on everything).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--Nicas drop the "s" on most words. Adios = Adio. A man told us, "Adio a lo do!" the other day (Adios a las dos). he said it so fast we nearly didn't understand him. They also say "buenas" as the customary greeting at the door or gate to someone's house, in place of the full "Buenas dias, buenas tardes...etc."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
--Tried several different new foods this week:<br />
</div>
<div>
-Cherry shaped "fruit" (kind of looks like a more oval version of a cherry) called coyolitos, that kind of taste like...sweet olives, if that's possible. It had a pit like an olive and the same saltiness, but it was also a fruit? I don't know, I've never tried anything like it before.<br />
</div>
<div>
-I tried a raspada this week too. It's pretty much just a bowl of shaved ice (I watched the man shave the icea and handle the ice with his own hands after he touched our money...so I'm praying I don't get sick) topped with a thick, dulce de leche/evaporated sweetened condensed milk type of cream, topped with a dollop of a sweet purple marmalade type of fruit/syrup something or other that was good but also new. It was quite good! Dad, you especially would love them. I'll buy ya one when you come to visit me, from a man who washes his hands, no worries.<br />
</div>
<div>
-Bunuelos--I don't even know how to describe them. They're kind of the consistency of hush puppies, and they're a fried yuca plant. Kind of spongy interior and crispy golden brown exterior, which are then fried and steeped in honey and lemon and rolled in sugar. Really oily. I ate three and felt like I might hurl, but they were good to try.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm running out of time and this email is really long, but I just want everyone to know that I love my mission. I really do. I love the Nicaraguans and the crazy, gross adventure I am having here (seriously, when I get back, I'm taking an hour long shower. Don't try to stop me, you can't). It hasn't been easy, especially this week. Adalberto cancelling his baptism a second time (font was filled and everything), no one keeping their committments to come to church..struggling with the language.. it all kind of piled up at once. But we're going to work hard this week, and I'm praying we'll find new people to teach.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There are people everywhere waiting for the gospel. We met a 16 year old boy named Daniel whose mother died when he was young and whose father, whom he lives with now, is an alcoholic. He lived in Miami when he was younger, and speaks a little bit of English. We asked him if he knew who we were and he did. Turns out he used to go to the LDS church every Sunday until his dad found out and forbade him from doing so. We were sitting outside on the cement ledge in front of his house, and when I asked if we could talk to his dad, he flinched and motioned for us to "shhh," and whispered in broken English, "He is inside the door. I do not think you want to know him." We asked why, and he replied, "He is always drunk on Fridays." "So...he is drunk right now?" "Yes." "But...it's Thursday." Turns out his father is always drunk. Daniel says he wants to be baptized but has to wait until he is 21 to be freed from his father. He told us hurriedly, right before his dad yelled for him to come inside, "I read from the book every night." We asked, "What book?" "The Book of Mormon. I know it is true." And my heart was just..touched. His situation is so tragic, but he has a testimony throughout it all. It made me grateful to have the freedom that I do have to act on what I believe.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I think I was nervous about talking to people I don't know so upfrontly about the Church and the need for baptism, but I am getting over that. I'm here for Jesus Christ. He is the reason why I wake up every day exhausted and go to work and come home just as exhausted having given the day my all. We watched a devotional at the Zone Meeting that talked about how Christ, after suffering all of the pains of the Atonement in the Garden of Gethsemane and on the Cross, immediately spent the three days after being crucified teaching and serving those people in the Spirit World. It never struck me what an incredible example He is. If anyone deserved a three day rest, it was Him. Every single temptation, affliction, sickness, pain..He suffered for all of it, not even going into everything he suffered physically on the Cross. If He can do that and then go to work every day, then I can wake up and teach people all day when I am tired. We will never experience even a part of what He did. He has "graven us upon the palms of His hands," and He knows us. Please know, whomever you are reading this right now, that you are never alone. He will never abandon us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, that is my novel of the week for ya. Thinking of all of you and praying for you!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les Quiero,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Your favorite 85 year old,</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-26826927947342148882013-12-08T11:50:00.001-08:002013-12-08T11:50:40.809-08:00Pinolillo: October 28, 2013<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
<div dir="ltr">
Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"And it came to pass, that Hermana Behan did consume much rice and grow fat, like unto the beasts of the field." 1 Caribbeans 6:3</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm getting used to the food, but if I'm not careful, I'm going to "engordar" and come back to you with just that more more of me to love, haha. We eat whatever we want for breakfast, and then we have a big lunch at a member's house and are expected to eat all of it. We don't eat dinner, which is kind of sad, because every day around 7 I feel hungry sorry for myself. I ate a cucumber with peanutbutter for dinner the other day. It tasted about as good as it sounds. That and Ritz con Queso or delicious bread from Panerias.. But Hermana Najarro and I have sworn ourselves away from both of those things....too dangerous. I tried two new drinks this week as well! Tiste, which is a clowdy brown color, sort of an horchata like texture, and tastes slightly like beans and sugar and a hint of coffee (it's not coffee, no worries). Also Pinolillo, which Nicaragua is famous for. It's also a murky brown color with flecks of tan colored floaties in it, which are apparently pieces of toasted corn. It tastes like...toasted corn and cocoa powder, and water, which is all it is. It was expecting it to taste like dirt, so I'll take what I can get.<br />
<div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
So, I just realized I titled my last email "Spanish Catch Phrase" and failed to mention what exactly that means. Spanish Catch Phrase is my favorite game here--it's when you don't speak Spanish but have no choice but to speak Spanish, so you use the words that you do know and mime, act out, draw or do anything you can to get your companion to guess the word you're thinking of. When you win, your companion understands you. When you lose, you feel really dumb. All of the time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's definitely another world here. Little old men riding carts pulled by broken down horses carrying firewood or other random things, mangy dogs and cats everywhere, women carrying baskets on their heads, dirt floors, palm trees and machetes, men wearing banana leaves to bind wounds, tiny little shops everywhere (most people have a little window show in the front half of their two-room house selling miscellaneous things..snacks, shampoo, ketchup (Nicaraguans love ketchup).. there are taxis everywhere and motorcyclists and bikes.. I don't know how they do it, but they manage to fit three or four people on one motorcycle or bike. Entire families just cruise down the street on the same bike. Mostly, I'm amazed at their balancing skills, but I'm also concerned that I'm going to be hit one day and get run over. It's a busy place to be. And also a poor place to be. One of the hermanas from here told me the other day that Leon is one of the wealthiest areas in the country, and I cannot even comprehend that. How can you get more poor than this? I guess you don't really realize how blessed you are until you meet people who have nothing.. and would share their solitary dirty, plastic lawn chair with you so you could sit down and talk with them. That, to me, is true Christianity. They're happy, too. I've been far too materialistic in my life, and it's refreshing to be with people who live life much differently than I think I even could have imagined.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The rain here is insane. Last week when we left the internet shack, it was pouring and, naturally, we didn't have our umbrellas. Completely drenched. It rained so hard today our ceiling leaked and termites may or may not have fallen from the ceiling onto my lap, but it's fine and I'm going to be okay. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Officially two weeks completed in the mission! I don't know if time is going fast or slow. I think slow right now, but that's just because I can't understand hardly anyone and that gets old really fast. My Spanish is slowly but surely improving, but I've got a long way to go. I'm sure if there was a translate option to view everything that I'm actually saying in Spanish to English, it would be pretty entertaining. Especially because I use the infinitive of words far more often than I should because I don't know the conjugations and it gets my point across. "We should to get to know the persons what are in the church to cook because I for myself like cook or to cook they cook it's good and important will you be baptized bye."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In other news, I got proposed to by a half naked fat man sitting on a bicycle yesterday. I get hit on pretty often. A drunk Nicaraguan man told me in English earlier last week, "I love-uh yooo!" Another called me his love, and another his queen. Quite presumptuous of him. At least we know for certain know I won't be a cat lady. I can just come back to Nicaragua and have my choice of older shirtless fat men on motorcycles. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mostly we walk everywhere, but sometimes, mostly on P-Days, we take rutas (root-uhs). They're vehicles that kind of look like small dump trucks, but then they pass by and you realize they're actually filled with people. I don't really know why, but I love rutas. They don't wait for you to be all the way inside before they start driving, so it's always kind of exciting wondering if you'll grab the bar in time or fall out. They're probably about the size of our 12 seater MAV (Mormon Assault Vehicle) Van, and I counted last P-Day and there were 46 people crammed into the same ruta. 46 people. 46 different body odors. I was far more acquainted with the man standing beside me's armpit than I ever had a desire to be. I was so impressed with one woman, who brought an entire iced cake, uncovered, and managed to keep in completely in tact both getting on and off the ruta. I would most definitely have smashed said cake into my face or someone elses. Maybe even intentionally.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Killed a cockroach the size of a tablespoon in my house yesterday. I was also really sick earlier this week, but I am better. All I will say is this: thank goodness for pepto bismal. I thought I was going to die in the bathroom. But, I survived. That is all you need to know.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Pretty much out of time again, what's new? But I wanted to say how much I love the Nicaraguan people. They are so loving and open--everyone you smile at smiles back and wishes you luck in the work and that you'll be blessed by God, and just about everyone listens to us, even if they're not particularly interested. The only problem with that is that they often make promises that they don't keep. I think of the 12 people we commit each week to come to church, maybe two will actually show up. But..at least they're friendly about it. I actually have my first baptism this week, so I'll be sure to tell you all about it next time! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I can't believe I turn 21 this week. Definitely not real. I miss everyone, but this is exactly where I am supposed to be. I love this Gospel with all of my heart, and I am trying my hardest every single day to teach as many people as I can about it. I found great comfort in Doctrine & Covenants 6:32-37 today, and invite you to read it if you're having a bad day. "Therefor fear not, little flock; do good; let earth and hell combine against you, for if ye are built upon my rock, they cannot prevail. . . Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not." Some days I have struggled, but most days, I am just happy to be involved in such a great work. I literally chased down a family to talk with them the other day (they were crossing the road and it was my turn to initiate, and Hna. Najarro told me to just go for it. So..I just kind of ran after them and yelled "Como Estas???" until they turned around and looked at the crazy white person following them. They agreed to meet with us later in the week, though, so it was worth it).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Church is true or I wouldn't be here with cockroaches and termites and heat and smelling weird all of the time. I love my Savior, and He will never forsake us.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Praying for ya'all. I love'uh yooooo!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Les quiero muchisimo!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
</div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-69209240032090335582013-12-08T11:47:00.002-08:002013-12-08T11:47:48.450-08:00Spanish Catch Phrase: October 24, 2013<div dir="ltr">
<br />
<div class="gmail_quote">
Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<br />
Let it be known throughout the land, I have OFFICIALLY FINISHED MY FIRST WEEK IN NICARAGUA, AND I'M NOT DEAD YET! No parasites so far! I'd say that's a success! I might just die from heat exhaustion, though. I am convinced that on his way down through the seven levels<br />
of hell, Dante passed briefly through Nicaragua.<br />
<br />
If any of you decided to come and visit me, it would be fairly easy to find me, because I might just be the only gringa (white girl) here. I'm the one with the shiny skin and poofy hair who everyone honks at (everyone..all taxis. Everytime.), blows kisses at/whistles at (five times today), or yells random things I don't understand...which is probably a good thing.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
In summation to my last email, we took a bus for 2.5 hours from Managua to Leon, and the driver put on some graphic documentary about wild cats, and so we watched cheetas and lions and jaguars hunt their prey for awhile, narrated in Spanish. Most people on the bus seemed pretty into it..including the driver, who seemed to be paying more attention to the television than the road. I couldn't really see out of the windows too well because they were tinted, but what I did see was gorgeous--greenery and palm trees everywhere, mountains in the background. <br />
<br />
When we arrived in Leon, we exited from the bus in the middle of a muddy cobblestone street busy with traffic, and Hermana Najarro (who might just be an angel--honestly one of the sweetest people I've ever met) got us a taxi. Ten minutes later, I found myself in the middle of nowhere surrounded by shacks and little cement three story buildings placed in close proximity to each other. I was just thinking to myself, "Wow, how does anyone actually live here?" when Hna. Najarro indicated that the one closest to us was our house (well, the third story corner of one, that is). So, we somehow managed to lug my ridiculously large suitcases up the narrow staircase, and she opened the door. The very first things I saw were cement floors, cinderblock walls, and a lizard that clambered up one of the walls and disappeared in the ceiling. Definitely not at the CCM anymore.<br />
<br />
Although our apartment is small and so unbelievably hot (I've consigned myself to the fact that it's going to feel humid and miserable for the next forever), the good news is, I have a shower! Only cold water, but you could not even pay me to take a hot shower here. And I was under the impression I'd be bathing from a bucket, so I was perfectly content.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty much out of time (currently in a little internet shack somewhere near our house and it is storming outside), so I will try to sum up a few of the things worth knowing:<br />
<br />
* First morning I woke up, felt so disgusting, and was dismayed to find that our water didn't work (apparently happens a couple of times a month). So we took a road trip to Hermana Hawkins' apartment (my CCM companion who is also in Leon) and showered there. Best shower of my<br />
life.<br />
<br />
* There is a termite nest somewhere near my bed.<br />
<br />
* Latinas cannot sing. It's actually pretty hilarious. It kind of sounds like a group of middle schoolers when they're reciting the pledge of allegiance, except then you realize they're singing a hymn.<br />
Harmonizing is not possible.<br />
<br />
* I play piano for sacrament meetings, and I don't play the piano. With my playing and their singing...well, I'd say we're on our way up to Mo-Tab status.<br />
<br />
* The people here have nothing. And I mean...nothing. One room, dirt or cement floors, tiny little televisions--tvs my roommates and I would have refused to buy from DI. Their clothing is neat but<br />
obviously poor, too. I see a lot of princess and tinkerbell shirts, American Eagle and Aeropostale brands...plastic shoes. We stopped by an investigator's house today who use car seats (as in, actual seats from a minivan or something) as their main furniture.<br />
<br />
* Everyone's houses are right next to each other and most have the door open, so we just wish a friendly "Adios!" to all who look our way. I attract a lot of weird stares, so I pretty much just smile and say Adios to everyone.<br />
<br />
* People here are so friendly and warm--I'll expand more next time, but pretty much everyone stops to talk with us and listens to our message.<br />
<br />
* The streets are full of taxis, motorcycles, and bicycles, and they don't move out of the way. You move, or you die.<br />
<br />
* Every day I wake up to the same Nicaraguan woman yelling some indistinguishable thing in Spanish that she is selling from a bowl that she is walking around with wearing on her head. I heard her say"tortillas" the other day. So, the next time she says tortillas, I'm going to buy one, if nothing more than to say I bought a tortilla from a very loud woman with impeccable balance.<br />
<br />
* I have eaten some weird food here. Including flower juice? Aahh, out of time! More next week.<br />
<br />
* Marvelous p-day today in the heart of Leon! Beautiful cathedrals and a delicious lunch. It is hard, and I barely speak any Spanish, but I love it here.<br />
<br />
Working hard and praying for you all. If I don't die from some random disease or humidity or being hit by a taxi or motorcycle, I'll write more next week.<br />
<br />
Les quiero muchisimo!<br />
<br />
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3886708720243509102.post-35092491816010828862013-12-08T11:41:00.001-08:002013-12-08T11:41:09.877-08:00The Justice of Oranges: October 21, 2013<div dir="ltr">
<div class="gmail_quote">
Hola familia y amigos!<br />
<br />
Okay, wow. I don´t even know where to begin--there is so much to say!<br />
Leaving the CCM was sad, and I am pretty sure I took the last hot shower I<br />
will have in 17 months, but I was ready to go and teach actual people and<br />
not just my teachers, although Hermano May truly was fantastic. He might<br />
just be a General Authority someday; I wouldn´t be surprised.<br />
<br />
So here´s what happened in a quick blerb: woke up at 4, got ready and<br />
weighed my luggage (both of my suitcases were exactly 50 lbs, hallelujah),<br />
got on the bus at 6:30, drove to the airport, went through airport<br />
security, and after waiting in the airport for about 2 hours (and talking<br />
to a nice stranger about the Church and Star Wars), boarded a plane for<br />
Panama! On the flight, I made yet another Spanish mistake. Juicio =<br />
Justice. Jugo = Juice. But, I mixed up the two, and when the stewardess<br />
came over I asked her for Juicio de Naranjas, or, the Justice of Oranges.<br />
She laughed and corrected me. But I stand by my statement. They have been<br />
oppressed for too long. Drink apple juice, my friends.<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
We were in Panama for five hours, which was fun because I had my four other<br />
Nicaragua-bound hermanas with me. We all wished we could have escaped the<br />
airport and explore for a few hours, because the view from the plane was<br />
beautiful. Low, fluffy stratus clouds and puzzle pieces of islands<br />
interspersed with ocean, the land consisting of patches of russet reds and<br />
oranges and surrounded by dark forests and light greens and then huge<br />
cities (comparable to New York, which was surprising--thin, spindly sky<br />
scrapers dotting the coastline). There was a road that extended from the<br />
land and then branched out by itself into the ocean, circled all the way<br />
around an island, and circled back. There was also another longer highway<br />
that connected one island to the next--which made me think of my dad (happy<br />
belated birthday, by the way!), because he hates bridges. Try driving on a<br />
highway with nothing stopping you from plummeting into the ocean. The plane<br />
was sideways for awhile and we had a neat view of the city, the ocean<br />
melting from deep green to blue to brown, then marshy forests that were a<br />
lush green (with palm trees, of course), and mountains in the distance. I<br />
have never felt the desire to explore Panama before, but that desire has<br />
now been kindled. Mexico, too. There are many adventures to be had here.<br />
<br />
On October 14th, I arrived in Nicaragua! Safe and happy and ridiculously<br />
full, on account of the fact that I ate three dinners. I never wanted to<br />
eat again. My mission President, Presidente Collado, came and picked us up<br />
with his family, and we met everyone at a church in Managua. Afterwards,<br />
we drove somewhere (it was dark, so I had no idea where we were) to a large<br />
villa in the middle of nowhere. It felt kind of like...Girls Camp. There<br />
were 5 or 6 bedrooms with bunkbeds and 2 showers, and it was so<br />
ridiculously hot I got little to no sleep. The next day, however, the<br />
saying "hit the ground running" took on a whole new meaning for me.<br />
<br />
We got ready for the day and were driven to President Collado´s house,<br />
which is beyond gorgeous. Classic hispanic villa/mansion in the middle of<br />
a jungle. I´m talking palm trees, beautiful white walls and russet orange<br />
tiled roofs, walls dripping with flowers (fuschia and purple and<br />
white--Yaya would love it), the whole shabang. The inside was gorgeous as<br />
well. We had interviews with President, and ate a typical Nicaraguan lunch<br />
(fried platanos, beef, rice, potatoes.. it was heavy, but good). I have<br />
been assigned to serve in La Villa, Leon with a darling El Salvadorian girl<br />
(shout out to Ally Haynie!) from San Salvador, Hna. Najarroz. She is<br />
wonderful. Patient and hardworking and lovely, I´m really grateful she´s<br />
not the fat and rude Latina companion I was imagining (whose imaginary<br />
name is Hermana Smith, in case you were wondering.)<br />
<br />
Once we left the Collado´s house...oh my goodness. It was chaos.<br />
Definitely the closest to culture shock I´ve ever had. I don´t think I<br />
even have the words to convey just how different it is here. Managua is<br />
just...teeming with life. And steaming, too..it is so dang humid here.<br />
There was some minor confusion, getting our luggage from one bus to<br />
another, but then we were safely on a dirty looking school bus and sat and<br />
waited for maybe ten minutes. Tons of little shacks and vendors are set up<br />
all around side by side, and the vendors came into the bus, trying to sell<br />
us random goods. I got offerred peanuts, limes, stickers, donuts, meat on a<br />
stick, bagged water (?), some sort of tan meringue looking pastry, etc.<br />
They just hopped on the bus, repeated what they were selling in sets of<br />
three, and left. For example: "AguaAguaAgua". When the bus started moving<br />
the vendors and various people just continued to jump on and off. When we<br />
stopped for traffic, we were bombarded! It was crazy. People just hopped on<br />
and off the bus while it was moving. A guy sitting in the front was<br />
yelling "Leon Leon Leon!", which sounded like "OleeOleeOle", and people who<br />
had a desire to go to Leon (which is 2.5 hours away from Managua),<br />
just hopped right on. Okay, this is all I have time for right now, so<br />
I will continue my Nicarguan adventure in my next email!<br />
<br />
Les amo muchisimo!<br />
<br />
<3 Hermana Behan</div>
<br /></div>
Chris Behanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09758408764783435612noreply@blogger.com0