Holier Than Your Average Camping Trip

FOREWORD: I wrote this about a week ago, before reading this weeks's service meeting segment which featured 2013 Yearbook experiences of brothers and sisters in Myanmar preaching in the mountains. Those timely experiences have definitely strengthened my desire to try this again!

"You see all that over there?? asked Freddy, a young ministerial servant and pioneer in our congregation. He was pointing to a misty landscape of dark green hills along the horizon. They were far, and obviously steep. "That's where we'll be preaching on the gira (pronounced "HEER-ah", referring to a rural preaching tour) this weekend." My leg started to tingle just looking in the direction where he was pointing, and suddenly I was too old and too weak to go. Fast-forward three days, and I find myself with a good 25 pounds strapped to my back, hiking up a windy mountain path with my closed umbrella as a walking stick...and wondering how in the world I convinced myself to do this.

I had heard the gira discussed for maybe a week prior to this. It sounded like fun, in theory. I like camping. And this would be two days walking through woods, marshes, over creeks, and in meadows that connected farms; with the brothers and sisters, preaching to the inhabitants of these isolated territories. We would cook and bathe outdoors and sleep in hammocks. And it would be epic.

WHO ARE WE KIDDING???

Yes, I enjoy camping. In California, in state-maintained campgrounds, with rest areas and s'mores and tents an air mattresses. I know the woods in Cali. I know what to pack, what animal sounds to expect and what kinds of "visitors" to beware of. I could get bitten by a snake out here, or get caught in a tropical storm. What if I walked too slowly and held the group back? What if the terrain was too much for me? No one in the congregation has a vehicle, so if I got too tired it's not like I could opt to ride in the car. If I chose to do this, there was no turning back. So that day that I was talking to Freddy, when my leg started to conveniently bother me, I was secretly relieved. I'd promised myself, my family, Danielle, and Jehovah, that I'd listen to my body and not go beyond my own limits. This was obviously beyond my limits, so I could stay home in good conscience. I would love to be brave enough to go, I thought. I'd love to be in my 20's and be in good health and know I can handle this. But I'm not. Oh well. But my conscience would not leave me in peace. I really did want to go. I was just afraid. And if there is one thing I have learned about Jehovah is that he is always telling us not to be afraid. So at the urging of Danielle I decided to just attend the pre-gira meeting after the Service Meeting Thursday night. I'd only be going to see what was really involved. Maybe I could start getting myself in shape in time for the next gira. It turned out that Brother Sanchez, the elder who would be leading the group was bringing his three-year-old daughter. My pride would not allow me to sit that trip out of a 3-year-old could do it. Number two, my Bible student, Lebia, had already lent me a beautiful hammock for the trip. I'd feel dumb going back the next week and telling her I hadn't even used it. And that preparatory meeting was so crazy and funny and non-military (much different than what I was expecting). I prayed to Jehovah for a clear answer. My mind and heart started speaking to one another again, and I started packing that night, with the self-imposed stipulation that if I woke up the next morning to what I have come to recognize as the beginnings of a "bad MS day," I wouldn't go. When I woke up, I was fine. It was time to go.

There were 27 at the meeting for service that day. We started at 7:45 and walked about four miles to catch a bus that would take us to a higher altitude where we would begin service. We split into two groups that went split off in different directions to work the different homes. Houses up there were even more simple than the ones where we live, but it was not uncommon to run into someone with an outhouse, a pig rolling around in the front yard, a satellite dish and a flat screen T.V. It's all about priorities I suppose. People were very receptive, as the Witnesses don't make it up there very often, and as a result we placed a lot of literature. We stopped for lunch at 12 at the based of a hill where we all shared what we brought. A collection was taken up so that a couple of brothers could leave to find soda (again, priorities.) We continued until it started to get dark, at which point a few other brothers went to buy beans, rice, and vegetables. Meanwhile, one of Brother Sanchez's return visits told us that we could stay there in an empty building on his large property. The sisters converged upon the damp, dirty space and didn't relinquish it until it was many shades lighter than it was when we got there. The owner of the property also allowed us to use his outdoor kitchen to prepare dinner. The young brothers with us pulled off impressive acrobatics to be able to secure our hammocks to the rafters. I volunteered to offer my services to test each hammock's strength with my own body weight. When the lights went down after our consideration of some scriptures, all that could be seen and heard were the shadowy outlines of our wriggling cocoons and the faint sounds of whispers and giggles and shushing. It was everything you'd think summer camp would feel like, except it had a lasting purpose.

I slept well in the hammock, but the next day I had slightly less energy. I suppose I started off so strong that I didn't have as much for the second day. Since this is winter in Nicaragua, the 80-degree weather was considerably more agreeable than most days, but at one point the sun came out and it seemed to drain all of us. But every half hour someone shared an encouraging experience they had, or someone started a Kingdom song for us all to sing, or we'd just get downright goofy-and then I'd forget about the narrow, steep paths, the mud, the latrines, or my own unsteady footing. I prayed from the beginning that I'd have energy to continue. The last bus down the mountain left at 2 p.m., but at that time we were still preaching. I braced myself for the three-hour walk home. I had prayed since the beginning to endure the trip no matter what arose. When 4:30 rolled around on that second day, though, I was fading (I think we all were)and dark clouds were beginning to form above us. Just then, a man that one of the sisters in the grew knew drove by with a shipment of firewood in a large truck. He was going to Sebaco! We all piled into the truck. Brother Sanchez said that since he thought the truck had probably come in response to my prayer, I should probably sit up front. I'm sure the driver regretted that. That blessing had put me in a chatty mood, and by the time we got back to Sebaco, he looked over at me slowly and said, "Are you a pastor?"
I'm told we walked 25 mikes that day. i didn't feel them. There is another gira planned for next month. I'm not sure if I'll be able to go this time; it might be best for me to wait until the following one. I'm saying that now...but when I picture that parade of umbrellas and think of the laughs and upbuilding conversation, of the variety was saw in creation, and of the witness given to the hillside dwellers just to see that multicolored snake of umbrellas wind itself cheerfully up the road just to see them-I'm thinking I should probably start stretching and packing now.

Manos a la obra (Getting to work)

"Half a block Southeast of the Sesteo Restaurant,across from the Baptist Church, San Antonio neighborhood, Sébaco, Matagalpa, Nicaragua."

That is my official address. So, as you can imagine, keeping records for the field ministry is like a doing a final exam for Spanish class, with a little topography mixed in. Here's one of my return visits:


Yes, there is a map drawn on it. There are no street names here. There are only blocks, landmarks; north, south , east and west. So for the first week or so, returning to find interested ones almost sent me to the psychiatric ward. But with what could only be angelic direction, the deserving are being found.

Here's just one experience: Last week as I was leaving one home near mine, a woman walks over asking if the brother with me and I are Jehovah's Witnesses. She explains that a friend of hers studies the Bible with Witnesses although she attends an Evangelical church because she likes the way we explain things. She asked if we would study the bible with her. I returned to visit Lebia the next morning and we had her first study. That night, she was with me at the meeting, and she has been to two so far.

Danielle has 10 studies already. I am a slacker. I only have 7. The elders and servants wasted no time in putting us to work, either. After our first week, Danielle had a talk on the TMS and I had a demonstration on the service meeting. That's a story that I had no idea was funny until later. I heard the audience gasp slightly, then chuckle. But since I saw nothing strange around me I assumed maybe something funny happened in the audience (maybe a kid was up to something or whatever.) Apparently while I was standing there presenting the Awake a 3-inch insect was flying around and landed on my belly. I never saw it. Poor Danielle was horrified. I really think Jehovah kept me from seeing it because who knows how far off the stage I would have jumped!

So our weekly schedule is generally as follows:

Monday: Cleaning,shopping,laundry, personal worship, "rest"

Tuesday, Friday, Saturday: Service from 8:30-11:30 a.m., then return visits and studies from 2 p.m.-4 or 5 p.m.
Wednesday: Mini-rural day. We board a bus to a nearby rural town and preach there all day.

Thursday: Service 8:30 a.m.-11:30 a.m., Congregation Bible Study, Theocratic Ministry School and Service meeting 6:00 p.m.

Sunday: Service 8:30 a.m.-12:00 p.m.; Public talk and Watchtower Study 3:00 p.m.

Danielle and I also do "Family" Worship Friday nights, which is a tremendous refreshment at the end of our work week. She explains it this way: "We spend so much time teaching the same basic Bible truths to people, which is wonderrful for them, but it really isn't enough to sustain us. We need to dig deeper. This is the way we stay alive spiritually."

Right now, we are packing for a "gira," or rural preaching tour, which is basically a two-day camping trip to talk to people in an area that is too far out to reach on a regular basis. There is a hammock and a first aid kit in my backpack, along with a flashlight and some non-perishables. If we make it through alive, it will be the subject of my next post. But for now, here are a few pictures from the last few days =)

Side note: Some have asked why my blog is called "¡Buenas!" I had every intention of explaining that, but forgot to do so. When we are in service we greet the householder by yelling "¡Buenas!" through the normally open doorway of a home. It's a common greeting, but I'm not quite sure why, because it simply means "good" in the plural form. It could be so as to avoid the inconvenience of having to pay attention to the time in order to be able to specify "Good Morning," "Good Afternoon." or "Good Evening." That's just a theory. I like to believe that we say it because we know we are bringing "good news!"

The first 9 days

There are two seasons here in Nicaragua: rainy,and dry. My roomate Danielle and I arrived here on separate flights on Wednesday, May 22, 2013, right at the commencement of the rainy season. It will pour, and thunder, and flash spontaneously and with reckless abandon for the next 5 months. And we will be in service.

Whether in wet or dry season, it is always humid. It even smells moist here. Riding down the Pan-American highway from Managua to Sébaco, where we are assigned, the varying terrains are either covered with rich green foliage or peppered with lush trees in the middle of tilled fields or tiny towns, reflecting the benefits of the tropical climate. My skin and hair love it. It is always about 85 degrees, and even when the sky is overcast, care still must be taken with the Atlantic sun; for even behind clouds, she does know how to burn brown sugar. ;-)

We live in a cute one-bedroom apartment, next door to two regular pioneer sisters named Fuebi and Chigemi, who have been here for 8 years. They have been invaluable in helping us get settled in. So were our friends Oscar and Jenny. (They are serving in Diriamba, Carazo; about 2 hours from here. Oscar's father lives in San Francisco but has a beautiful home in Managua. Oscar and Jenny were gracious enough to pick us up from the airport, take us shopping for necessities for our place, and let us get a good night of delicious, air-conditioned sleep in Managua before the long trip to Sébaco the next day. They donated to us our first appliance and first piece of furniture; a small stove with two burners that connects to a gas tank, and a queen sized bed, as well as some dinnerware so we could eat that first night. Without Oscar, Jenny, Fuebi, Chigemi, and Shannon and Nelson (other friends from home who serve in nearby Esteli and gave me tons of advice to help me prepare); as well as other friends we have made so quickly in the Sébaco congregation, this week would have been substantially more challenging.

There are 55 publishers in the congregation, and there are 30,000 residents in this town. So that calculates to roughly one publisher to 545 persons. There is A LOT of work to do here. So pioneers have been sent here on rutas ( a temporary service assignment in an area outside of one's local congregation) from Mexico, El Salvador and other parts of Nicaragua. We got to work right away, and when we arrived at the meeting for service, the attendance was standing-room only. At first I thought, there's no need here, there are plenty of workers. But then as I began talking with the the brothers and sisters I learned that those numbers were large mainly because of the visting volunteers. And then, we hit the streets.


Sébaco has relatively nice areas, like the neighborhood where we live. Other than the trash that people are accustomed to carelessly tossing on the ground, many homes are well-built and have electricity. But on the outskirts of the city are many barrrios rurales, or rural neighborhoods, where people live in poorly constructed houses made of materials. As you can imagine, these are our favorite territories. People are humble and willing to listen and learn. So willing, in fact, that the pioneers here all but jumped for joy when they got here, because they could finally take a load off and pass some of this abundance of studies to other teachers. Don't you wish you had that problem?

I'll tell you more about some of my experiences later. But I just wanted you to see a little bit of what Missionary Monday looks like:



That's right, we wash clothes by hand. My whites have never been so white! And we walk to the markets to by groceries. Alot of things here require patience, adaptation, and just plain ingenuity. I'll have to take a picture of the way we were able to rig up a mosquito net over our bed, though we live in a house with a tin roof and no ceiling. But I'm enjoying the simplicity of life and learning so much every day. I'm a little overwhelmed by how much work there is to do, but I know we won't be doing it without the best help available!