Easter.

In terms of family traditions, Easter is top on my list (after Thanksgiving and Forth of July, of course). The five of us pack up for a long weekend to the beach, which includes long beach walks, surfing, homemade Chuck Salley dinner specials, sleeping in, dying Easter eggs, Hammock Shops trips, waking up without an alarm, cinnamon bread from a local bakery... the list goes on and on.

Sunday morning would always come along with our pink, green and blue Easter baskets filled with goodies and Easter candy for breakfast quickly became the norm (once my parents decided to choose their battles and if our teeth rotted out? Well, it was our own darn fault). We'd head to church in Georgetown, SC, where my mom's parents were members. There we would meet up with my mom's entire side of the family (it's grown quite a bit over the years!) - making sure to get there early enough to save at least three to four rows worth of pew seating for the entire family to sit together. We have a slew of hilariously awkward inside jokes that have come that pew section: That one overly ambitious, Southern down-to-her-roots woman in her Easter's best asking a bunch of wide-eyed, sugar-high kids, "Where the egg at?!" in the children's lesson. There was also that time my younger (at the time maybe 7 years old) brother dropped his communion bread in the wine (grape juice) cup while dipping, which led to a bunch of (grown adult) giggling Salleys, Juks, Stewarts, Draffins and Avants during the entire communion service. When the service ended, there is the not to be missed, family photo shoot in front of the flowered cross in front of the church. (And let me tell you, it is a beautiful cross.) Due to the extremely large amount of people in our family, staying true to our charm, our crew is always - let me repeat, ALWAYS - the last the leave. Then all hundred of us (so it seemed) jump in to our cars and head back up the beach to eat our Sunday lunch. And it is always - let me repeat, ALWAYS - delicious.

These times. These memories. These are the ones I miss the most when I am here and not there. These are the ones I cherish now more then I ever thought I would.

This Easter looked unlike any other Easter I have had. It included church and good food, yes - but it also included a pool party, hanging out with some Latina girls who are in the process of getting adopted, lots of laughing with new friends and plenty of pizza. I remember looking around with these friends, after about four to five hours of sitting poolside, smiling and thinking, "This is such a bizarre Easter."

And as much as I miss my usual Easter tradition with my family, I look forward to seeing what new bizarre holiday traditions will come out of this time here in Nicaragua. So here's to you, Easter - and here's to remembering the sweetness of family traditions and to recognizing the bittersweetness of change.

25.

It's funny to me how popular the "list" blog posts are: 5 Reasons To Drink Coffee, 10 Ways To Get Better Hair, 40 Ways You Know You Are From South Carolina (a personal favorite of mine).

Being that today I am celebrating being alive for 25 long years and keeping with my theme from last year's birthday post ("24 Ways I Can Tell I Have Turned 24"), I have decided to yes, make another list for this years quarter of a century birthday celebration.

I have a list that I keep in a little gray notebook. "grace moments" it reads. It is a list of grace. All the ways I see God's grace in the everyday, seemingly ordinary moments. It is always so sweet to look back and see the different ways I saw Jesus in a year. So this year, I am going to share twenty-five of my favorite grace gifts from the past year. 24, you were sweet to me!

1. learning the secret to Spanish pronunciation
2. running in the rain
3. comfy pajama pants
3. three dollar movie nights (with caramel popcorn) in Costa Rica
4. laughing and smiling so much it hurts
5. friends who speak truth
6. sleeping in a sweatshirt
7. giggling with Olga
8. group texts with my parents
9. getting caught in the rain with no umbrella
10. red toenails
11. Instagram filters
12. Oswald (Costa Rican brother) hiding in my closet
13. sunlight spilling onto my bed in the morning
14. tears
15. the sound of my pen as a write
16. early morning sunrises
17. bad Spanish days to remind me I can't do this alone
18. cracks in glass that reflect the sunlight
19. cinnamon in coffee
20. snowflakes on airplane window
21. all of my stuff in one place for the first time in two months
22. Dad's homemade chicken pizza
23. realizing I had forgotten to count grace gifts and seeing how much a difference it made
24. eating sno-cones with high school girls
25. the sound of pouring that first cup of coffee in the morning

The graces keep coming and I hope I never stop seeing them.

Here's to you 25...I have a good feeling ya!

surrender?

Today is one of those days. One of those days where as much as I want to believe it, no amount of black coffee will suffice.

I came to realize something this morning: I desperately crave a schedule. A schedule that doesn't change or get rearranged last minute. Something solidified. A week where I don't have to mark my pen through previously planned thing in order to move it to another day or add something else in. As the weeks go on, my planner begins to look more and more like a fifth graders homework, where they just can't seem to find the right answer.

I can feel myself growing more and more desperate for stability but the further I grasp for it, the faster it disappears.

And isn't that always the way it works in life? We chase after these things we think will complete us, satisfy us, make us happy...but the longer we chase them, the harder they are to catch.

Stability. Does such a thing even exist in this new life abroad I am stumbling through? I can not be sure. But yet I shamelessly attempt to obtain it, no matter the cost.

But this morning, it was ripped out from under me like a rug and I am left sitting on the ground, looking around for someone to blame. Until I realized that someone to blame was me. Because more then stability, I want control. (There's always a root issue, isn't there?) I want to control this life of mine to turn out the way I see fit. Is there anyone out there that can relate to this or am I the only one attempting to tame my own life?

Surrender to Me, I hear Him whisper to the depths of my soul.

Surrender sounds nice but it is actually terrifying. So I fight it - everyday - running to stability instead of the Holder of my heart. Grasping for control instead of the Soother of my soul. Seeking my schedule instead of the Author of my faith.

And instead of bringing the peace and joy I expect, I am left disappointed, frustrated and confused.

I wonder how many days of disappointment, frustration and confusion it will take before true surrender really happens? I'll have to keep you posted...

lately.

These past couple of weeks have been some of those weeks where I really wonder how I even remembered to keep breathing. The to-do list kept growing larger and with every pen strike through one thing, five more things were being scribbled below.

But this Monday morning, with muh girl Taylor Swift coming through the speakers, black coffee steaming in my cup and an overly priced (impulse buy) box of Wheat Thins at my side, I feel ready to conquer another week. And my ever growing to do list.

Two weeks ago we had a work team here from the great state of Kansas. They are a team that has been coming to Nicaragua for five years now. Basically, the team partners with a local university here, UCA, and the Vida Joven (Young Life) UCA team to help in their English department. The team helps teach English in the mornings and in the afternoons they have different activities with their English partners. English partners are usually 3 Nicaraguans and 1 gringo (North American) in a group, to help practice conversation in English.

The coolest thing about this team is not only do they get to impact the lives of these Nicaraguans for the week but they also get to help with connections for the Vida Joven UCA team. When the team from Kansas goes home after a week, the Vida Joven UCA team gets to continue in these new friendships and continue to invite students at UCA to their weekly Young Life club and invest in their lives.

What was really fun for myself and my partner in crime (Jen) was the chance to bond with some of the local Vida Joven leaders. They were so thankful that we gave our time to help serve them and we were thankful they allowed us to be a part of such a beautiful week! Below are some pictures from the week with the Kansas team and the Vida Joven UCA team:

The team left on Tuesday of last week and we jumped right into our normal routine of Young Life club on Wednesday! The club theme was Human Scavenger Hunt where all of the Young Life leaders dressed up as different people (sports mom, tourist, pregnant lady, student, business man) and we hid ourselves all over the mall. The kids were broken into small teams and had to find all 7 of us. The winning team got free ice cream! After, we all hung out in TCBY (oh yes, there is TCBY here...and it is delicious.) ate ice cream, played games and heard about Jesus.

Needless to say, it was a pretty amazing, fun filled two weeks but I am happy this week to have some time to breath, catch up on my to-do list and drink insurmountable amounts of coffee.

moments.

we all have those moments. those moments that you cannot create but are simply stumbled upon. those moments that change everything. they come in all shapes and sizes, these moments. sometimes they bring unbearable pain. other times, insurmountable joy. but one thing these moments promise: you will never be the same.

I remember it well. I remember it as if it was yesterday, forever in the back of my mind, filtering each of my thoughts.

I can still hear the sound of water being poured down the toilet because there was no such thing as running water.

I can still smell the giant pot of rice and beans cooking in the kitchen because this was all that was affordable.

I can still feel the ungodly amount of heat that engulfed us, swelling my feet and drawing me into a restless sleep.

I can still see the joy. the hope. the light. the humility. the content. the love.

We only spent five days here. Five days that changed me forever. Five incomprehensible days. For five days we lived liked I had never lived before. No running water. Constant lack of electricity. No sheets on the bed. No car. No food I was used to eating. Sharing one tiny room with four girls.

And for five days we lived like I had never lived before. Uncontrollable laughter late into the night. Deep, meaningful conversations in broken Spanish. Learning through experience. Processing the discovery of joy in this tiny, concrete house wedged between two buildings with its barred windows and no AC.

At the end of the week, we all crowded - over twenty sweating bodies - into the tiny living room, spilling over onto the floor and out the door. People weren't the only thing overspilling that day. Tears. Joy. Confusion. Grace. Pain. Overwhelming emotion. Exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion that hits you to the core. We took the time to share.

What has this week meant to you?

I don't even remember my response. Because it didn't matter. My eyes were on her as she began to speak. I couldn't take them away. Her words reached clear across that room and grabbed my heart. And they haven't let it go since.

This woman. This single mom of three, all with different fathers. This cross bearing lover of Jesus, constantly reading her worn in Spanish Bible. All week I had been watching her. She gave up her bed for us. She gave up her time for us. She gave up her food for us. She gave her all for us. All week, all she did was give, it seemed. And all with a smile and with a joy I could never belittle to attempt to explain in words. With indescribable joy, she gave.

But she stood there, at this sharing time. And after all the ways she had unknowingly given to my soul, she looked at each of us, with tears flowing freely down her face and said:

"I just hope that, if you return, I can give you something more."

My mind refused to comprehend what she is saying. How can it be, that this woman, who washed more then her fair share of feet that week, wanted to give something more? 

I lost it, right then and there on the concrete floor of this beautiful, grace filled home.

As we pulled away from their house to head back up to the camp, I knew. I knew I had just experienced one of those moments. I knew that I would never be the same. 

Looking back now, that was the moment that changed everything for me. That was the moment that drew me down this path towards Latin America. That was the moment I saw Jesus more clearly then I had ever before. A life changing, life giving, grace moment. Because in that moment, little did I know I was beginning my journey of the discovery of what it means to be fully alive.

summer of 2011, working at the Young Life camp in the Dominican Republic.
here we are on the home stay.
the woman I wrote about is in the orange.

back again six months later because we couldn't get enough of this joy.
here she is on the right.

series.

Not up, but out.

Not down, but around.

In explaining the path of the Christian life, a wise man makes these claims.

That so often we judge our lives in steps, these series of ups, downs and leveling. These attempts to make it to the next goal. To become more spiritual. To climb closer to God.

I imagined a little stick figure (me), on some steps, trying my hardest to reach up to the next...but it's just out of reach.

Always reaching up. Always trying. Always climbing. Always failing. Always stuck.

But no, I am told.

The Christian life is a different kind of series. It's a series of circles - shapes, really -  maybe even paths - where Jesus is in the middle.

And we are constantly in this movement of wandering from Christ and being drawn back into Him.

I am struck by this thought and cannot stop thinking about little stick figure me - reaching up for the next step but never quite making it before I fall back.

Then I see the other option, the other way. The wandering way. I am always wandering. And He is always binding my heart back to His.

And once again, I realize: this too is grace.

oh, nica.

Here in Managua it was a brisk 70 degrees this morning (21 degrees Celsius for you mathematicians out there...no, I did not do the math myself; yes, I googled it) - I got so chilled in fact that as I sat at the table drinking my delectable cup of steaming hot, made in Central America (aka the good stuff) coffee, I had to run upstairs to thrown on my most-comfy-of-all-time grey sweatshirt. I giggled to myself I imagined the wintry blast that has thrown itself across the United States, causing certain states (cough cough South Carolina) to go into an arctic meltdown and shut down the entire state for days at a time - while I have to snuggle down into a copious amount of clothing when the thermometer (or let's be honest...everyone just uses their smart phone weather app these days) hits below 80. Don't worry though, folks - the chilly, crispy morning I just described lasted all of an hour before the heat made its debut and decided to bring the sweat along with it.

As I sit here now, after a day of running errands and checking finances (you know, all that adult stuff I'm suppose to do now), I keep thinking back to this weekend and how wonderful it was, so I thought I would share it with y'all! So to my twenty loyal blog followers - this one's for you!

Well, let's back up to last Tuesday. Last Tuesday I had one of those culture experiences I set myself up for and all you can do is laugh about it later. Jen (my teammate), Meredith (her roommate) and I ventured out into the unknown territory of the musical harmonies of Marc Anthony. Yes, we attended (or rather, attempted to) the Marc Anthony concert. Right here in our very own country of Nicaragua. The night started out great with some cheap Nica food called papusas (actually the staple food of El Salvador, not Nica but still cost about 3 dollars, coke included and delicious) and of course the typical  North American McDonalds drive through for a McFlurry (note: not actually a McFlurry, but soft serve ice cream with MnMs or Oreo on top none-the-less). This additional dessert necessity caused us to show up at 9:30 to the 8:30 concert. Uh oh! We may have missed the opening act! We thought to ourselves as we searched for parking. Well this just in team: parking lots are for wusses and here in Nica the main road that goes through Managua becomes the parking lot when needed. A short hike up a dirt hill and some 30 minutes standing in winding lines later, we make it to our $18, nosebleed section to prepare ourselves to be bewitched by the smooth, Latino melodies of Marc.

Don't worry everyone, we made it into the concert just in time for the opening act! Which happened to be a woman (Meredith swore "she" was a "he" due to her low voice octaves) who decided the best way to open for a Marc Anthony concert was to sing us some lullabies. Literally, every slow song she could possibly think of, she sang - and along with the language barrier, it was enough to make the cement benches we were sitting on feel like a great place to lay my head for a nap. By 10:15(ish) the first act wrapped up her last song, giving Jen, Mer and I a second wind, ready for some Marc Anthony! ...who did not begin singing his first song until 10:54pm. You heard me, the 8:30pm concert began at 10:54pm. ON A TUESDAY NIGHT. You'd think we would have been prepared for this - you'd think we would have learned by now - we knew the concert wouldn't start right on time but almost two and half hours late was a shock to us all. The below picture proves it:

To make things even better, we knew one Marc Anthony song. Count them: o-n-e. Did we think that through before we subjected ourselves to Marc blowing awkward kisses from stage to his faithful fans (one who decided it would be a good idea to take off her shirt and throw it on stage)? Nope, we didn't. All we wanted was the one song. But it was late. And we are old. And we were tired. So we left. We listened to Marc and awkwardly swayed back and forth as we pretended to know the lyrics for about an hour and then decided it wasn't worth it anymore. So like the good gringas we are, we left the concert early to find solace in our beds. The next day, I was talking to a friend at Young Life club. He also had been to the concert. Do you know what time it ended? 2:30 AM. And do you know what the last song he played was? THE ONLY ONE WE KNEW. The one we were desperately waiting for all.night.long. Needless to say, it was a failure of a night. But yet, we laughed. we pouted. we swayed. we pretend-sang. we almost fell asleep. we made memories. we experienced culture. and did all this in the midst of failure. So really, it was a success of a night. Cause in my book, the glass is half full.

Fast forward to Thursday. Thursday was a glorious day. It was one for the books. A day to celebrate! Why? Because after a 6 week search, after buying one and then having to return it...a final, official car purchase was made and she's mine all mine! 

What a beauty, huh? Now, she's got big shoes to fill from the car I sold in the States but so far she's doing great. I cannot even begin to explain the thrill of freedom it felt driving her home from the dealership. I love her and the gift she is!

Next comes Friday. I can't even explain the greatness of what Friday was - I will spare you the gory details and skip to the good stuff but it includes: buying car insurance (by myself!), eating a delicious salad, and an hour and fifteen minute car ride to a coffee shop (that usually takes ab 7 min) with some crazy girls. And then we arrive at Kermesse, on Friday afternoon. Kermesse is a (weirdly enough) German word but it is basically a giant carnival put on by the school. Each club has a different game that you buy tickets to play. There is food, entertainment and carnival rides galore.

After meeting up with some freshmen ladies, I somehow got persuaded to ride one of the carnival rides...this was the result:

You may not be able to see it but that is pure TERROR on my face right there. I do not (I repeat DO NOT) enjoy heights...much less in an old, rickety, set up in a hour ride...in Nicaragua of all places! But I did it. And I survived (hence the writing of this post). We spent the rest of the night running around from carnival games to photo booths to...you guessed it: snow cones!

 Oh yes. And yes we did run around with purple, blue and red tongues for the rest of the night. #winning.

The rest of the weekend was spent working on homework for a Young Life training class, searching all over Managua for some Greek food with Jen (which we found...at the mall food court, no less), an earthquake (all is well, don't worry!) at three am to jolt me awake (and jump out of bed ready to run out of the house...which later was learned is not the correct response to an earthquake) and attending Spanish church on Sunday morning. It was one of the weekends where I laid my head on my pillow on Sunday night and thought to myself: this is my life. and it is a good one. (after swatting away multiple mosquitos and killing three spiders in my room within fifteen minutes, no less).

Oh, Nica. You are stealing my heart.