This weekend we took one of our famous visa renewal
excursions to the southern Pacific coast of Nicaragua. As far as traveling
goes, it was relatively unremarkable. We took our own car across the border
guided by a cute little man named Jorge who knew his stuff and made the
crossing paper work a snap. (When you get to the Nicaraguan border, whether you
are walking or driving, you literally begin to be hunted by the “official”
border guides who will carry your luggage/ watch your car/ bring you the papers
you need/take you to the right windows etc. for a “tip” of your choosing. Which
one you give in to eventually is a matter of fate. This time, we got Jorge, who
was a literal God-send.) It was so easy that while my poor husband stood in
line one last time, I went shopping for hand-crafted leather sandals at the
curb side market. (Look, they’re $5, provide for some man’s family and fit
perfectly in the new style I’m developing: missionary boho chic. I couldn’t
resist.)
After the hugely successful crossing, we headed to , a beach town San Juan del Sur on the Southern tip of Nicaragua. As is the case with
most beach towns around the world, San Juan del Sur is a mix of locals living
at or below the poverty level appropriate to the country, the hippie ex pats
who sell jewelry on the streets and live who knows where, the investors who own
the hotels and are all also building condos and selling home sites in two other
towns, and the Europeans who apparently prove they have “made it” by buying
elaborately constructed condos at ridiculously over-inflated prices in the most
obscure locations they can find. I’m telling you, fly to any country in Latin
or South America, Asia or Oceania, drive to the nearest coast, find the beach
and this is what you will find.
We tend to stand out a bit among this crowd if you haven’t
already guessed. We traipse our poor children from one end of town to the other
looking for a place to stay that: 1. has room for all of us 2. is willing to
subject itself to our brand of chaos, 3. costs just a little more than free. Then
we find somewhere to eat.
On the afternoon we arrived, we sat down at a large beach
front restaurant and took in the lapping waters of the Pacific, the long
stretch of sand, the huge statue to the Divine Mercy perched atop a mountain
overlooking the whole area, and the incredibly reasonable seafood prices. At
least 25 people made their way to our table from the beach to sell us things –
sunglasses, phone cases, hand-crafted pottery, jewelry. This is the case
everywhere you go in Nicaragua. It’s one of the reasons I have fallen in love
with the place. (It’s a weird missionary thing.)
Our missionary spending mindset goes something like this…cheap
hotels, cheap food with the occasional splurge, cheap or free clothes and shoes…poor
locals selling things you don’t need and which are likely to break before
dessert…buy them. We had already bought two pairs of sunglasses and an iPhone
car charger when the most precious little girl approached our table with a
basket full of little creatures made out of sea shells. We gave each other the
collective bleeding heart look that said we knew we were not sending this sweet
one away empty-handed. We bought a turtle. We encouraged forced my
father-in-law to buy a turtle. I asked her who made them, she said her mother.
I asked her how old she was, she said nine. And then my son gave her the
sunglasses we had just bought him because “they were kind of pink anyway”. They
were burgundy. Welcome to the family of bleeding hearts, son.
Later, as Greg and I were talking about the place and the
atmosphere and how much we loved Nicaragua, I mentioned the little girl to him.
He is by now used to the fact that everywhere we go I become fixated on some
girl child and talk about her endlessly as if I had known her all her life. We
agreed she was the most precious little thing and mentioned with some concern
that we hoped someone was nearby watching her as she worked on that crowded
beach.
That evening I sat in the hotel lobby with the plan to take
advantage of working Wi-Fi and glut myself on free7Kindle books. I connected
and found to my happy surprise Jen Hatmaker's book 7 at the top of my list. I
had forgotten that Elizabeth had gifted it to me a couple of months ago to read
along with her but I had never been anywhere with Wi Fi to download it. I
started reading, and I did that book thing that bookish types do. I immediately
become so immersed that I treated everyone around me as if they were
interrupting an important conversation every time they distracted me.
I took it with me to the beach the next morning and read for
four hours while my boys splashed and played and built sand forts and collected
rocks and sand dollars. I will admit that I was so immersed that all of us are
now walking around hissing loudly “DON”T TOUCH MY BACK” whenever anyone comes
near us. If you are not familiar, Jen Hatmaker is a Christian author and
speaker who, along with her husband, took up God’s challenge to simplify their
own lives and become advocates and friends to the poor. In 7, she spends 7
months wheedling down some area of her life to 7 essential things and
reflecting on its effect. For one month, she ate only 7 foods, another, wore
only 7 clothing items. It is everything I love in a book – challenging,
inspiring, spiritual, funny (Y'all the girl is funny). And she made me think
about lots of big things there on that beach.
Of which the loudest was “what the heck am I doing here on
this beach when there are poor just around the corner? Why am I not serving?”
Eventually I remembered I was sitting on that beach because I live a life in
service to the poor. I resisted the temptation to load up my little
missionaries and their flip flops and tell them we had to leave immediately to
buy rice and beans to deliver to yet unknown needy families in the area. I
waved happily to them as I watched them jump waves with a couple of local boys
they had befriended, carefully guarded their prized rocks (okay, I might have
left them when I ran screaming from the
incoming tide, Kindle high in the air and towels in hand), and read on.
And then she was back. The sweet little brown face gently
pushing a seashell rooster toward me, the shy smile melting my heart. I knew I
couldn’t justify buying another sea shell creature but I didn’t want to send
her away. I wanted to buy her a Coke and something sweet and sticky to eat and
tell her to sit down next to me and forget about working for the afternoon. I
knew that probably wasn’t going to get high approval marks from whoever had
sent her out here in the first place. So I told her I couldn’t buy anything
today and to be careful.
And my heart has not stopped aching ever since. In its early
aching, I wondered with a tinge of anger about
who sent her out to the beach alone all weekend to work. I questioned why they
didn’t realize it was dangerous. My mind started to question what the human
trafficking statistics were in Nicaragua and if her mother knew about them. I
was mad at whoever was putting this child in this danger so regularly.
And then I began to think about why she was there. And my
heart hurt even more. It’s been hurting ever since. I cannot get this little
girl out of my mind. She’s on that beach working every weekend because of us,
because of me. Because my heart will bleed more readily looking into the
beautiful face of that little girl and be inclined to buy her little shell
animals than it will be looking into the face of her tired mother trying to support her children. Because I am
not moved to action by her poverty or her efforts to avoid it, she sends her
little girl to me – vulnerable, sweet and a good sell. I am sick about this.
I have begged the Lord to help me see how to remedy this in
myself. I have begged him to break my heart wide open for the mothers trying to
survive, feed their children, keep them healthy and happy and whole against all
odds. And to give those mothers my full attention and support when I find them
in front of me. To tell them that I value what they are doing, that they are
valiant and noble and beautiful and that it makes me thankful to have the chance
to look into their beautiful faces and be blessed by their presence and their
work. I beg to be the person who loves and encourages and supports instead of
looking away or acting bothered. I beg that I will never again contribute to
the culture that encourages a mom to send her child out to work because it will
bring them more food than if she went herself.
But my heart still breaks. That little girl follows me to my
dreams at night and on my morning walks. I think of things I wish I would have
told her. That she was very, very beautiful and had a sweet smile. That she was
doing a really good job and her mom would be proud. That she would never ever
be alone because there was a God who loved her and valued her above all things.
That she could walk in joy and hope because she had been redeemed by the love
of a merciful Savior. I wish I could have found way to explain to her without
frightening to her how careful she needs to be. I wish I could run back there
right now and have a re-do. But I can’t.
And I’m living with that reality and asking God what He
wants me to do with it. Asking the Holy Spirit to prompt me to see the ways I
am called to be part of the solution. Yesterday, I took a long look at the Trafficking in Persons Report. This reality is profoundly appalling and the
statistics so overwhelming, that sometimes I find it mind-numbing. I shut down
because if I really think it all through, I might break in half from the
tragedy of it all. But yesterday, I was happily surprised to find that Nicaragua
is not on the watch list, that their government has really stepped up efforts
to protect their people and complied fully with all the international
recommendations. But my heart sank when I read further and found out that the
very beach where we were, San Juan del Sur, is highlighted as one of the
highest danger zones for human trafficking in Nicaragua. Also, to my surprise,
I found out that Costa Rica is still on the Tier 2 watch list. The country has
increased its efforts in the area of human trafficking and moved up from the abysmal
Tier 1 status it first received, but still lacks in awareness campaign efforts
and has yet to prosecute a single suspected offender.
My recent reading has inspired to think beyond the “well I’m
here, being a missionary, aren’t I” mindset and think of ways the Spirit might
be calling me to action. And I think there are ways that, with a little help,
we can make an effort on the awareness front here and in San Juan del Sur. I
might need a bit of a hand on the technical side of what I’m thinking about. I’ll
be back tomorrow to tell you more about it. Drop me a line or a comment if you
might like to help be a part of the effort.
In our daily holy hours, part of the prayer we pray is “that
I may never sit with arms folded but always seek to do more and better”. I know
Jesus is breaking my heart for this little girl and her mother on a beach
somewhere in Nicaragua for a reason. I’m sure if I pushed it out of my mind for
a few days, it would be replaced by other things. But I don’t want it to. I’m
begging the Savior to break my heart for His people the way His breaks for
them. I’m begging to be an apostle of mercy. I will take that little girl to my
prayers every day and speak over her the words I wish I had thought to say there
on that beach. I will try to find someone in the area who might seek her out
and find an adult who would keep watch over her on the weekends when she is
working. I will pray that God sends me back to her, to her priest who is
struggling to minister to more than 20 communities without proper chapels. I
will pray to see her in the eyes and faces of every mother and child I meet
here where I am and that I always find the courage to say those things to them
that I wish I had said to her, to the little girl who I hope has forever
changed me, opened my eyes anew to the plight of God’s children, made it real
and painful and too awful to ignore.
Will you join me this week in praying every day for this
sweet child? For all children in danger? For the mothers who are struggling to
provide for them and feel forced to endanger them? For God’s people to seek
them out, find them, love them in His name, do what they can to relieve the
suffering of the poor? For all our hearts to break into action? And then,
maybe, you will be able to join me in the little effort I am brewing up in my
mind? Please will you come back and read more on that tomorrow? If you are praying with me, will you leave a note in the comments, so we can see the bouquet of prayers we are arranging together? Thank you for listening to the cry of my heart.
Praying with you and reading, my friend.
ReplyDeleteColleen, everyday you amaze me. I am humbled by your service in His name.
ReplyDeleteWas moved to read after seeing a facebook post. Please let us know how to help. And thank you for raising awareness.
ReplyDeletePraying.......Colleen I am so happy you are where you are. You are a woman, wife, and momma of the Lord! I know you are blessing all of those you come in contact with....because I have been blessed by you too!
ReplyDeletePraying with you, Colleen. Today I was in conversation with one of my students about the human trafficking situations that happen right here in Missouri, especially Kansas City. I am with you in prayer that I might not be paralyzed by statistics or the overwhelmed feeling of what can I do? Thank you for sharing your heartbreak. Will be back tomorrow. Hugs.
ReplyDeleteDefinitely will pray for her, her family and for yours as well!
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautiful post...thank you for sharing. Praying.
ReplyDeleteWhat a beautifully heartbreaking post. I remember years ago feeling similar tugs at my heart when we would see the little children selling their wares on the Mexican border. It is almost surreal, when you have been raised on American soil, to see that. Keeping that sweet little girl, her family and your mission in our prayers. We will be standing by to see where you are led and offer what help we can give. In Jesus' name.
ReplyDeleteI am from Nicaragua myself and probably ate at that same restaurant or walked at the same beach as you did. I haven't been back since 1992 when at the young age of 18, I was asked if I wanted a cruise trip with my family or to go back to my homeland. My friends thought my selection was bizzare to say the least, but I chose the latter. I too was touched by a little family that took care of the beach house my aunt and uncle owned in San Juan del Sur. While all of my cousins and I enjoyed a full week on the beach with bathing suits to spare, their little children walked around barefoot and bathed in shorts and t-shirts. Lets just say that I spent all my spending cash on them that weekend, shoes for all of them, a new pretty pink suit for the little girl and anything that fit their mom from my suitcase. I will never forget that week, mainly because of the joy in the faces of that family at the joy of receiving new and hand-me down items. It did shape me to whom I am today, a simple mother of five and trying to live as simple as possible always, and always thankful of everything we have especially the food on the table and the safety that my children are growing up in.
ReplyDeleteThank you for taking me back 20 years. This reminds me to pray for this little family. The children, no longer children now; maybe even with a family of their own. Which reminds me, I want to take my children there...
I will keep you in prayer, Colleen, and will return to see what your project is...May our Lord continue to inspire you and fill you with His grace.
ReplyDelete