Author: Natalie Goff

This is the time in our visit to the US, that we start wondering if we will be able to bring home all the things we had hoped, wonder if we could just be beamed back to Nicaragua, and simultaneously miss family and friends here and look forward to getting back and settling in.

This week, I was sharing with a group of woman about how the Nicaraguan people have shown me the need to go to God with issues first rather than down the list of other options. The next day, I had the opportunity to practice what I was preaching.

On Wednesday, Stephen received the diagnosis of Hemochromatosis- in short, it means that he has too much iron in his blood. In his case, what should be between 40-50 is 750. The affects can be cirrhosis, cancer, heart issues, damaged joint and organs, and so much more, all with fatal results.(www.hemochromatosis.org)

The treatment is the archaic practice of “blood-letting”-a pint of blood twice a week until his number is in the normal range (up to a year)- we are considering leeches… just kidding! Also he get to adjust his eating, to severely reduce his iron intake.

So this is where you come in-

Will you please pray with us for healing-immediate or otherwise? As well as dealing with the challenges that come with this diagnosis as we head back to Nicaragua.

Thank you for caring for us!

 

We will return to Nicaragua in less than a month- this comes with a small stab of anxiety- “I am not ready yet or will I ever be ready?” My ponderings this morning put some clarity to this issue for me.

My life in America is big- options in stores, the opportunity to drive where I want, see who I want, explore places and feel safe in the culture; a culture that is second nature to me. I feel confident in the language, I can see and feel what I want to buy in the stores, and I can find and buy my choice of items in the color, size, shape and price I want.

We meet with people who are interested in getting together with us, and they are encouraging of the work that we are doing. We get to share our story, which reminds us of the big picture of our lives. The time here is personally filling.

In the midst of this though, my heart feels small. Here in the US, I am encouraged to find a ministry that works for me. A church that works for me, and I can choose my involvement in church and other activities.

In Nicaragua, my life feels small-my desire to get out is limited by availability of transportation, another person to go with me, lack of variety of available places to go, and some fear of the unknown in a country with unfamiliar places and cultural expectations. Language slows and sometimes stops conversation, and my day often consists of a similar schedule-wake up, have breakfast, walk the 4 blocks to work, return at the end of the day back 4 blocks, cook dinner and go to bed. We live in a tree-filled and house filled community which offers little in the area of vistas. I can feel closed in and stuck at times.

But, in Nicaragua, my heart is made to be big. Even when I don’t feel like helping, people will come by for food, medicine or just a conversation. The culture is more of an instant culture- we have a need right now, how are we going to fill it? This is not usually done with grumbling, but more of an acceptance that there is a need and there is something I can do to help. I work with people who exemplify this every day- I get a tutorial in sacrificial giving.

So, my torn feeling in this time of our trip is this- I am much more comfortable in the American world, with all of the amazing benefits, experiences, encouraging people who want to make a difference in their world, but I am more fulfilled by having to do those things that make a difference in one person’s life.

 

Strange things are happening here in Masatepe- the smoke and steam from the volcano are blowing in the opposite direction, I have been using my “heavy” blanket at night because it is “cold”, and I am writing a blog!

So let me introduce you to a lady I met this week- I was going for my morning walk, and came upon a lady I had not seen before, walking with a cane and a dog. As I walked by, I did the customary, “Adios”, and she responded with “Good Morning”.

It took me a few more steps before I realized that she had responded in English. I turned around, and said something profound to her, “Do you speak more English?”

She said, “yes”, and then told me that she was originally from Masatepe, but moved to San Francisco about 60 years ago. Her husband passed away 3 years ago, so she has returned to Masatepe to retire because she has family here. She also told me that it has been REALLY hard to adjust to being back here. Her short story is that she is really lonely, bored, and that getting used to the climate here has been difficult.

We exchanged information, I petted her fat and friendly golden lab, and then we went our separate ways.

For the rest of this week, our “chance” meeting came to mind often. I completely understood her feelings of loneliness and challenge in a community that is not my own. I feel more connected now than I ever have here in Nicaragua, but still loneliness and feeling like a foreigner rises up at times and reminds me of my struggles over the years.

This morning when I went walking again, I went by her house, and noticed the door was open. When she saw me, she was so thrilled. She invited me in, showed me around (This is a house that I have been hoping to see on the inside), and then we settled into the living room. She seemed to be having a particularly hard time with the negativeness of living alone and in a foreign land.

She asked me if it is hard for me to be here. I told her, that I like the work I do with people, but the environment is hard for me, and that I have had a lot of loneliness here, too! We talked about family, work, and church. She tearfully told me about struggles in her family, and we took time to pray about it. She asked me about our church, and then asked if she could come with us on Sunday.

She came to church with us the next day, and I think there was a spiritual struggle going on in her. I can’t explain it in any other way. I don’t know what God’s plans are for her, but I will continue to reach out to her. Satan can be strong, but God in me is stronger!

The following was written last weekend- June 25th. It is always interested to see God weave together the details:

 

Oscar is a soft-spoken man in his sixties who has been in several of the classes that Stephen teaches at the local seminary. He loves to learn about the Word of God as much as Stephen loves to teach about the Word of God. His relationship with God is one that many of us would envy.

 

In one of his first classes, Stephen had his students share their testimonies. They took turns sharing of God’s grace and experience in their lives.

 

Oscar’s story went back 40 years or so. When he was in his teens, he would visit his friends in a different area of town and these friends had a old neighbor lady.

 

One day when he went to go visit his friends, they were not home. He noticed that the neighbor lady was not home either.  In what was characteristic of him at the time, he broke into the ladies house stealing several things. Under a stack of towels he found a very nice Bible, which he also stole.

 

Over the next several months, he read the Bible, and with time the conviction came that he was a sinner in need of the grace that he was reading about.

 

This experience radically changed him! Although shame kept him from going back and asking forgiveness, he is forever grateful for the “donation” she made to his changed life.

 

In class, when Stephen calls him “The Bible Thief” a big, knowing smile spreads across his face. Something that was evil, God meant it for good.

 

Recently, Oscar, the Bible Thief, has been missing class. He suffered a mild heart attack about two weeks ago, and has not felt up to coming to class since then. Every week he is hopeful to return because he is hungry to learn. Please pray for Oscars recovery.

 

The Update- July 2:

Yesterday, Stephen was involved in a car accident when he was taking some of his seminary students home. A moto-taxi hit our truck and flipped over with a passenger in it. Accidents here are a scary thing for all involved because fair is not always the objective. There are a lot of unknowns and feelings of vulnerability as an outsider.

 

During the 10 hour process after the accident, which involved visiting the police department, lawyers office, and hospital, all with negotiations that involve time and money, Stephen had some faithful support:

 

Daniel, a faithful friend who was with him the whole time, who changed his plans and negotiated many details.

 

Jordy, a friend and teammate to came to the rescue as a lawyer and voice of reason.

 

Our teammates who gave prayer and encouragement.

 

Two of Stephen’s students who came to our house to pray with me because they knew I would be “triste y asustado” (sad and scared).

 

And finally, a 60-something Bible thief named Oscar who was committed to stay with Stephen as support and  a prayer warrior through the whole ordeal.

So the short story is that we get to keep this guy around for a little longer. The longer story is my failed lesson is waiting patiently.

This morning when I got up, I realized that Queso was in the same place that he was when I went to bed. Usually this time of the morning, he is dancing on the bed to wake me up so he can go out for an adventure- he is that kind of cat!

I picked him up and he let me pet him, but when I put him down he went right back to the same position curled up on a chair. His eyes looked glassy, and I was worried.

We had never visited a vet here, so I called a friend for a contact. She sent back a number and I called. The lady said that someone would be there in an hour. In our setting, one hour can easily become two hours, so three hours later I called her back and there was no answer.

By this time, the cat who had earlier drank milk would not take any food or liquid. His eyes looked more glassy, and the cat who usually would not let anyone but me pet him, let Stephen pet him. He seemed to have lost his fight.

I called the other number I had received. A guy answered, and said that he would come over as soon as he could, but that he was the only one in the clinic at the time, so he would have to wait until someone else came in to replace him.

Lunch hour here goes from 12:30 to 2:30, and in that time I became increasingly anxious. During that time, there were fireworks being shot off in front of the house and a parade of about 500 people. My agitation mounted as I saw Queso head for cover with a wobbly body that seemed to lack his control.

I poured my effort into work, but inside I was cursing the vet, the people, the country and culture. I had texted the person who had given me the number for the vet, to see if she would call- maybe that would be motivation. Right at that time he pulled up.

Although Queso appeared to me on his last legs and was starting to smell bad, he went into fight mode with the vet. After a quick assessment of a mouth infection, the administration of medicine involved two scratched people and a 10 minute cat ambush. Queso finally gave up panting behind the pineapple and aloe vera plants, and I was able to pin him down for his medicine.

I paid the vet and thanked him for coming.

Now, the same cat who looked like he was done in for two hours ago, has gobbled down food, insisted on being pet, and ventured outside.

I have taken back my curses on the vet, the people, the country and the culture!

 

It was an interesting day on Sunday. Stephen and I were home in the morning because we decided to go to evening church (by far, the bigger event). I looked out at my neighbor’s house across the street and noticed the signs of an impending party- tables, chairs, and a band with four 4-foot tall speakers setting up in the front “yard” of the house. Inwardly I cringed; I know what was to come- I don’t know the decibels, but I do know that when this happens, Stephen and I usually have to yell at each other inside our house to be heard.

In the afternoon, I made bread and listened to an American pastor from the church in Alabama that had just been here the few days before. He spoke on Romans 12, with a specific emphasis to me “Bless those who persecute you. Don’t curse them; pray that God will bless them”; not just be nice to them, but rejoice with them. I knew that this evenings plans were not a persecution to me, but my thinking can get skewed in a situation like this.

The music started at 4:20, during the skype with my parents, and we headed out the door at 5:15 for church. As we walked out, I said, “I choose to bless them not to curse them”, hoping that this “post-it “ message would stick in my brain and my heart.

Church, here, is loud but we expect that now. But as we were walking home from church, we heard the party from three long blocks away. “I choose to bless them, not to curse them.” As we approached the house, we realized that the volume has been turned up and people were dancing. I took the time to go wish my neighbor happy birthday. She told me that it was not her birthday, but her sister’s birthday. They were celebrating the 50^th birthday of her deaf sister.

All the sudden, the noise had a purpose and a name. She was feeling the music as she was dancing and enjoying her friends. I returned to my house feeling not just tolerant of the noise, but happy for her.

I went into our house, and while I was preparing dinner, I opened a drawer and a grey-brown mouse scurried back into hiding. I told Stephen and he came in, and pulled everything out of the cupboard and drawers. I went to get Tito, my cat, and was shoving her in the cupboard, when I heard someone yelling, “Buenas!” over the sound of the music. I went to the door, and my neighbor and her sister had plates of food for us, and cuts of cake. What a blessing!

They came into our house, Stephen was without a shirt, I was in my nightgown, the cat in the cupboard, and there was stuff all over the floor in the kitchen. I am not sure how all of that interaction went, because I felt scattered, but it was a good connection with our neighbors-smiles all around.

The music lasted for about another hour, and I can honestly say that I was happy for her experience!

PS: Tito never did get the mouse and was a little irritated with the music!

I am not sure how to connect back into your world after being away for so long. Busyness is my excuse. I did write several blogs over the past several months that never got sent because I never had the time to get back into them for the finish work. Anyway, I am just going to jump right into the present- maybe someday I will get back to the past.

You know that pendulum- the one that swings between the balance of work and rest. It seems that mine has been stuck a lot closer to work than to rest; so much so, that when I have had the chance to rest, it often does not come. Things like even my rest becomes work, so I can cross something off the list. I know that there are seasons, but too much of either season is too much.

Here in Nicaragua, we do basically have two seasons; wet and dry. By the end of the wet season, I am happy to trade my perpetually damp clothes and sheets and muddy floors for the dry warmth. And in the end of the dry season, I am ready to trade the dust that covers everything and heat pouring down my face for “winter” in the 80s and a rain shower most days.

We are just now in that transition from dry into rainy, and I feel like my soul is mirroring that transition- dry into a season of growth. Both seasons have a good part and a challenging part, and both parts are a part of life.

The past 5 months have been filled with a lot of teams, family visits, new people on our team, job changes for both Stephen and I, the intensely oppressive heat of the spring time, distance from people at home, and the hope of an upcoming trip to the US for my cousins wedding. There has been a building tension in me for some emotional rest.

When Stephen got home yesterday from the seminary where he teaches, he knew that I needed to get out of town. I like Masatepe, but not leaving it for several weeks, the feeling of being hot 24/7, and my push to try to catch up with work, was taking me to a breaking point.

He asked me what I wanted to do, and before I knew it I was looking to see what movies were playing-this is truly the best feeling of escape that I have experienced in this country. La Cabana- translation “The Shack” was at 4:20 pm. At the time it was 3:33, and we both knew that we had at least a 45 minute drive in good traffic. It felt good to break from the responsible and measured and run off to Managua on the spur of the moment.

We made it there by 4:26, justifying that we would be fine since we live in a culture not concerned with time. Movie, popcorn and drink for dinner, and the cool of air conditioning and comfortable seats were exactly the frivolousness I needed.

It seems that many people have their opinions about this movie/book, but at this time, the movie told me what I needed to hear- God is “especially fond of me” whether I am close or distance, asking hard or easy questions, or going through hard or easy stuff. And the comfort of seeing Multnomah Falls and the Gorge made both of us yell out in the theater and feel closer connected with what we miss!

When we left the theater after the movie we were enveloped in a big thunder and lightning storm that had overtaken the mall. The powerful rush of wind, soaking rain, and warm puddles of water to walk through were refreshing to my mind and spirit.

God knew what I needed- He always does!

March 17, 2017

Today feels like a very Nica day. I am not sure how to qualify that other than it is not my usual day: days revolving around business and helping people settle in. It was more of a walk down memory lane, which comes with mixed memories and experiences.

For the second time in two months, we have meandered through the streets of Granada looking at our old houses and connecting with people from the past- the first time was last month with my parents and today was with Stephen’s parents.

The first stop, and the first place we lived, was “Emma’s cottage”- with the floor that crushed with bugs and the tin roof that radiated heat by 7 in the morning.

The second stop was out of order, but it was our house in the country (the third place we lived) with friendly, helpful Nicaraguan neighbors, memories of the flood that ran through the property on the infamous May 15- the assigned first day of the rainy season, and the cow who would watch me when I did the dishes.

The last place was in town, but was really the second place that we lived. We had a pool in the interior of the house, many people stopping at the door for anything we would hand out, and the opportunity to meet other missionaries in the city of Granada.

The feelings and memories in me of Granada are connected with struggle- a broken down car, more extremes of poverty than we typically see here in Masatepe, the pain of purposelessness, and the physical pain of boils, heat and sickness. It was a time of shaking my identity to the core, and feeling like I might not survive or want to survive that shaking.

This time was not without blessing, but I felt like I had to dig deep to remember the blessings of those times.

In our first house we were connected with Trinity Christian School through the intruding landlord who seemed to be aware of our every activity. Unknowingly he helped us form a friendship that is still a blessing us to this day- residency, a job teaching Bible for Stephen, and knowing some generous-hearted believers who helped in our adjustments.

Our second home was an oasis- a beautiful and comfortable place for us to transition to this very foreign land; a pool for cooling off, beautiful views, and the pampering of a housekeeper. God knew that I needed this this place!

Our third home is where Queso and Tito came from. At times I might fall into the “crazy cat lady” category, but these two beasts have been the salve and the focus I needed during much struggle and uncertainty.

As I sit here typing in the dark with the unpredictableness of our electricity this evening, I am reminded of a conversation that I had this morning. My new job is to care for and guide the team members here in Masatepe. I was talking with a new team member. As we were wrapping up, I asked if there was anything he wanted to say. He said, “Knowing that you are here makes me feel like everything is going to be all right.”

Wow! It made me cry, because I knew that all of those things that weighed heavy on my heart from Granada today are the exact things that God is redeeming in me in order to give comfort to this young man.

This spiritual transaction is a mystery to me! The yuck and the brokenness is transformed into something useful. And it is this spiritual transaction that allows me to have faith in an invisible God; one who can do good things in other difficult situations that we came upon today, but I will save those stories for another day.