There are at least a few moments every day where something occurs and I find myself thinking, "I MUST blog that," and spend the next few minutes thinking out the clever phrasing I'll certainly use to paint my word picture.

Of course, by the time night falls or I get a few uninterrupted minutes in front of the computer, far too many things have happened, far too much energy has been drained, and pretty sentences don't flow. The internet quality decreases as the rainfall increases here, and it's winter (aka rainy season), so the odds are against me.

All that being said, today was blog-worthy. And so now that all the kids are (hopefully) sleeping sound in their beds, I've stolen a moment to transcribe a few snippets of the endless adventures that make up a day in the life out here.


The Etiquette Of Dealing With Annoying Girls

Remember the 8-11 AM dread? This week has been quite the roller-coaster for our morning study and reinforcement time. After Sélfida was hospitalized, we scrambled and found a substitute tutor for Tuesday morning, and continued on with our week. I was certain there must be some sort of mistake when our social worker, Profe Ana, came to me on Wednesday afternoon to inform me that our tutor was in the hospital.... Yes, I know, that's why we hired the replacement. It turned out however, that our replacement had as well been hospitalized, and so the hunt for our third tutor of the week began.

This morning, with our third tutor secured and present, my attempt to launch the day's first English class session was quickly derailed when José, one of my tougher cases around here, lost his temper during study time and punched Ana in the face before storming off to his room.

I sat alone with one tough little boy for about 20 minutes, not saying much of anything. This was the amount of time it took him to get from his closed, defensive body position of curled up on a mattress facing the wall to a more acceptable and inviting position of sitting beside me. It was good to have the time to sort through my thoughts and reject my first five reactions. I find that when these kids act out (and I think it's kids in general), they sometimes do so many things wrong at once that it's dificult to figure out what you're really mad at, and moreso, what's actually worth addressing.

I've had time over the past few weeks to discover my discipline priorities around here... for example, I go light on those who violate the mandatory footwear rule, and I'm very very hard on lying. The consequences of lying, especially lying to try to get oneself out of trouble, are hard and swift. I'm also quickly becoming very tough on disrespect towards the other staff and adults here at the centre.

So today with José, I ignored the loss of temper, and the neglecting of homework, and the goofing around, and focused instead on his raising his fist to a girl.

These are tough kids from background. This is a country that doesn't protect or respect well women. And these boys are growing up believing that it's fair game to hit a woman if and when she makes you angry.

Hey, I know that we women can be infuriating at times. And I certainly know that Ana provoked José today, having stolen his backpack and notebook and given him some of her trademark attitude. However, I was thinking about who this kid is going to become, so I put aside all of those other issues, and talked with José about the way that God has created him, strong and forceful, and how God has given him this ability so that he can protect and honour women, and not to threaten them with this strength. José eventually softened when he realized I wasn't going to yell, I wasn't going to punish, I was simply going to talk and correct. And I got to see the soft little eleven-year-old boy inside that very tough shell, the kid whose life has made him hard as stone, but who shuts down at a show of force and who responds much better to a soft word and a long hug.

I feel more and more each day that parenting must be a very important ministry, a unique and transformational calling of God. It ought to be held with the utmost of reverence and respect. And I cannot understand the ludicracy of those who hold it lightly, or resent its demands on their personal freedoms.


La Pobresita Gatita (The Poor Little Kitty)

Besides coming with a 10-year-old, the house-sitting responsibilities include caring for Joy's cat Wendy and her 5 newborn kittens. Today Joel took Wendy to the vet to be spayed, in hopes that we won't have any more gatitos (kittens) running around over the next few months. As I will be in charge of Wendy's post-surgery care, Joel took me in to the vet to pick Wendy up so I could get the care instructions firsthand.

When we arrived Wendy looked simply terrible, and she had been throwing up. The vet tersely mentioned something to Joel about comida, so as we walked down to the bank to get cash to pay the vet bill I asked Joel what the lady had said. He said something about her being in a lot of pain, but I pressed him to clarify what the vet had said about comida (food).

Joel explained that the vet had said that we had fed Wendy way too much... and then reluctantly divulged the rest of the story.

The vet's instructions had been that Wendy was not to eat for a day before coming in so that she would have an empty stomach for the surgery. Joel was staying in the house while he was visiting from Los Cedros, so charge of the cats fell to him, and he faithfully closed Wendy into her cat-house last night so that he could feed the kittens. Departing from my usual method of filling up a food dish, Joel set out the ice-cream pail of cat food for the kittens to eat from, fully intending to bring it in after they'd had their fill... can you see where this is going?

With the other things going on in the evening, bringing in the cat food slipped Joel's mind. Sometime in the night a hungry Wendy clawed a hole through the metal screened-in windows in her cat-house and ate a very generous dinner or two. In the morning Joel found a nearly-empty ice cream bucket outside his door with a very content kitty curled up inside.

As Joel recounted this to me in the bank I laughed myself to tears out of the terrible, tragic humour of it, and also at the explanation he had given the vet upon bringing Wendy for her appointment: "I didn't feed her last night, but she got out, and... well, I don't know what she did after that." In light of this back-story and the vomit's completely solid, undigested cat-food consistency, the vet's delicate rebuke took on a whole new clarity.

When we returned to the vet's office the vet explained to Joel and I what medications needed to be given to Wendy, and when, and as Joel translated, he mistranslated .5 ccs of antibiotics as 5ccs, and every 12 hours as every 2. Joel discovered his mistake, I asked him again through my intense laughter whether or not he even liked Wendy! The vet, fortunately, was laughing as well, joking about how high Wendy would be off this misdose, but I couldn't help but think how lucky Wendy was that Joel would not be responsible for her post-surgery care.

It didn't take long for those feelings to be reversed when I realized that I was going to have to give a needle for the first time in my life, and continue giving them for the next 5 days... perhaps it might not be so bad to leave Wendy's care in Joel's hands? However, as Joel was heading back to Los Cedros that afternoon, there was no getting around it... I'm going to have to stab a cat.


Bubble-Gum Remedies

When the kids arrived home from school, I discovered that Luis's head was looking a bit... unusual. Closer inspection revealed a giant glob of bubble-gum firmly implanted in his hair. Some probing revealed that a bully in Luis's class at school had perpetrated the offense that afternoon at school, and shortly thereafter, I found myself testing out the old peanut-butter remedy I'd heard was rumored to work well for this sort of problem. For the record, it works like a charm. You've got to use it liberally, rub it in well, and give the oil a chance to break down the gum, but pretty soon it starts coming out in little strings. A fine-toothed comb is the other essential tool to complete this operation.


Bandana Bandits

Unfortunately, the bubble-gum incident wasn't the only case of bullying we experienced today.

Later that evening an indignant Ricardo came to me to complain that José had sold a bandana earlier this week at school to another kid in their class. Ricardo had given his bandana to José, but apparently not with the intent that José would then sell it to Naún, a kid in their class. While both children agreed that it had been given to José and was therefore his posession to do what he liked with (selling things aside- that's a whole other issue that we didn't get into at the time), I definitely understood Ricardo's feelings of being used - he had intended it to be for Ricardo, not for Naún.

José had apparently sold the bandana in exchange for a bracelet, which didn't seem like that great of a deal. I asked José if he had the bracelet and he said no. I asked him if he had wanted to trade the bandana for a bracelet, and he said no.

The picture became much clearer when José explained that Naún is a seventeen-year-old kid, apparently taller than I am, who is in the third grade along with these two boys. I certainly can understand a rather small eleven-year old's hesitancy to say no to this kid, who apparently always hits him, and would have hit him had he not "sold" the bandana. I asked the boys how we could best solve this problem with Naún, and they both wanted me to come to school and talk to them. That will likely be a task for Monday, although I will likely be taking Ana and Masiel, the two workers, along with for language back-up. Beyond that, once the situation had been explained the boys were left to resolve Ricardo's grievance, for which José asked forgiveness. These are the scenarios that play out over and over again, hour after hour, day after day, in the lives of the children of Hogar Amiguitos.


Tooth Tales

Today Ana finally lost a tooth she'd been working on wiggling for the past week, and it came at a good time as I had promised her a special treat (a little private party) once she'd lost it - her adult tooth was already coming in so getting the baby tooth out was urgent.

Fortunately Ana had kept herself out of trouble relatively well today, and had recieved no checks, so she was able to join me for a movie over at the house, complete with special food (a Friday night treat at the orphanage - it was a sort of rice pudding tonight), popcorn, and peanut M&Ms.

I know everyone laughed pretty hard at the career dive of Vin Diesel choosing to make a movie about a Navy-Seal-turned-babysitter, but for what it's worth, I actually enjoyed it. While it contained no laugh-out-loud moments, it was funny in its way. And of course, we ended our evening with the obligatory dance-party that must accompany all upbeat end-credit songs... or did you not know? It's mandatory. Except perhaps in theatres. And when not with small children or siblings. But otherwise, it's mandatory. Take notes.


Night-Nights and Gushing Head Wounds

While Ana and I were enjoying her reward for losing her tooth, the other kids were watching a movie over in the centre, except for those who hadn't been able to stay out of trouble this week, who were left to entertain themselves in other ways. Adán and Xochilt had been roller-skating in the cancha, and somehow Xochilt's skate had given Adán a nasty cut in the head that was bleeding quite profusely. By the time I arrived Samara, the night girl, had patched Adán up quite well and the bleeding had thankfully stopped. Samara assured me that the offending blow had in fact been quite light, and there was no concern of concussion.

As Ana and I were returning to the house to finish our movie, we found Xochilt seated outside on the front steps, feeling quite penitent and looking so very forlorn. We assured her that no one was angry or upset with her, and that it was well-understood that it had been an accident. Xochilt, however, had determined that she would sleep outside until Sunday as a means of punishing herself for Adán's unfortunate injury. I assured her that no one (including herself) would be punishing her for Adán's wound, and that she would certainly be spending the night safe and warm in her bed. A few hugs and cuddles were called for to drive the point home.

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The hours from 8 to 11 AM hold the potential to be either the three best or worst hours of any given weekday for me, and I suspect the same holds true for 13 of Hogar Amiguito's young residents. The variable? English class.

8-11 AM Monday through Friday is the designated time for the students to study, do their homework, and practice the academic skills they're learning at school. We have a tutor on staff who comes for these three hours a day to work with the kids. When I first arrived, I quickly discovered that this was my least favorite time of day here at Hogar Amiguitos. The teenage girls are at school, and the 13 younger kids are all cooped up in one room with little adult supervision, lots of distractions, and no desire whatsoever to study or do homework. To borrow my older sister's favorite expression, GONG SHOW.

It didn't take long for me to recognize that this part of the day was always utter chaos (or at least, it is so in Joy's absence). Over the past few weeks, the tutor has been in and out due to some medical problems, so my daily 8 o'clock dose of dread kicks into overdrive on the days I discover that Profe Sélfida won't be coming... for example, this past Monday. After being the only one here working with the kids all day Sunday as well as all night and the following morning (it was everyone's day off, including the night girl), I can't accurately sum up the emotion I felt at 8:30 that morning when Sélfida still had not arrived. In her stead came a young woman with a doctor's note explaining that Sélfida had been admitted to the hospital due to some ongoing leg troubles and wouldn't be coming in at all this week.

Study time on Monday was once again the classroom equivalent of pulling teeth.

My dissapointment over Sélfida's absence had less to do with being one person short than it did with the fact that being the only adult present means I can't execute the plan that I've developed to combat my 8-11 AM dread: English Class.

While the children of Hogar Amiguitos (and perhaps, children everywhere) have little interest in completing their homework or bettering their skills in long division, they do however have a very strong interest in learning how to speak English. With the amount of English groups that come through Hogar Amiguitos on a yearly basis, and the amount of doors that open to a young Nicaraguan who can speak English, they certainly have more than enough reasons to desire to acquire the language. So shortly after my arrival, having been asked by Joy to resume teaching their English classes, I developed a scheme to kill two birds with the only stone I had... my mother tongue.

My English class works as a reward system. I start off my classes at 8AM, after the kids are settled in to study time, with the older kids, since they are more reliable and responsible and can be trusted to finish their homework in the remaining time after my half-hour class. After their class is complete, I return to the study room and ask the tutor which children are ready for English class. The only kids who can come to my class are those who have already completed all their homework. When they return from my class they are to continue doing "reinforcement" work such as practicing printing, math, or other skills.

The beauty of the system is that the children have a fresh opportunity to be in the next group, and therefore fresh motivation, every half hour for the duration of the study time. Those who finish their work only in the last half hour forfeit their opportunity to recieve English class that day. Those who finish even a half hour early are rewarded by having the opportunity to join my class. As well, Profe Sélfida's authority in the classroom is reinforced every time I return to the room, as the only way a child can enter my class is if Profe Sélfida has personally reviewed his or her completed homework and granted the child permission to go.

I'm loving having the chance to practice my classroom management techniques, and while my kids' behaviour is far from perfect, I've been very pleased with the relationship in our class so far. From the beginning I've been very strict about the type of behaviour that is appropriate in my classroom, and I have had no problem asking a child to leave the room and return to study time if he or she isn't showing the willingness, focus, or desire needed to participate. I consider myself very lucky that the class and subject holds enough appeal that even those who were kicked out the day before will repeatedly ask me if there will be class tomorrow. I'm seeing a lot of the disrespectful, inattentive, and undesirable behaviours die off in my class, as I'm trying very hard not to reward them or allow them in my classroom. Certainly my classroom management skills are far from perfect, but I'm relishing the opportunity to work them out nonetheless. (Insert more nerdy education talk here....)

The subject, as well, is offering no end of challenges to me, as I get to not only reflect back on grammar, reading, spelling, and pronunciation rules that challenged this Canadian second-grader but have long-since faded into the landscape of subconscious competencies (change the 'y' to an 'i', and add 'es'), but also all the differences between Spanish and English, both subtle and less so, that I've uncovered over the last ten years as I've acquired my present knowledge of the language. In Spanish, the pronunciation of several consonants is negotiable (such as j, g, and x for example), the pronunciation of vowels never varies. In English, the opposite is true. With the exception of combinations like ch, th, ph, and sh, our consonants rarely change (though our enunciation is usually poor) but our vowels change constantly.

A long and a short sound for each vowel.

The e on the end of almost every word? Silent.

Combinations like au (pause), ai (faith), ou (south), oa (goat), oo (tooth), ea (treat), ie (wierd), and so on and so forth.

A, E, I, O, U, and sometimes Y?

I'm finding all sorts of interesting differences between the two, but these only serve to make English pronunciation much more difficult. And did you know that while Spanish, like French, conjugates the verb differently for each possible subject (yo voy; tú vas; él/ella/usted va; nostros vamos; vosotros vais; ellos/ellas/ustedes van), we conjugate almost all subjects the same (I go, you go, we go, they go) with the exception of he and she (he/she goes). All this to say, learning a second language is challenging, and teaching one is as well. But at the same time, sweet, sweet, grammar-nerdy fun.

Going back to Monday, my biggest dissapointment on hearing of Sélfida's misfortune was tied up in the fact that I wouldn't get to give my English classes to the kids this week, and the knowledge that they would certainly revert back to being unmotivated little hellions for during study time without it. We slogged through an exasperating couple hours on Monday morning, and happily, were able to hire a substitute to come in for the rest of the week.

On Tuesday morning the children and I happily resumed our morning classroom routine.

On Wednesday morning, I decided that I didn't really need a full free day and instead traded around my free time (I'm supposed to have one "free day" a week) to take several afternoons off while the kids are in school and give one more morning English class a week, modifying the routine to its present Monday-Friday state. I also offered to teach Anielka in the evenings, since the breakfast dishes always eat up her morning study time and she is one of the more eager students here.

Tomorrow, I plan to continue working with my little Spanish choir, who are currently attempting to nail down the pronunciation of the English alphabet (I'm making them spell with English letters... a whole other story there) in order to be able to sing the "ABC's" without mumbling through everything past D and re-inventing the whole "LMNOP" stretch to sound like some version of "menomenopee" (and hey, don't laugh, you did that one too.)

Hey guys!

Lots of people have been sending me e-mails asking for more details about my day-to-day life here, and so I figured I should share some of my more regular experiences with you all. So here are some thoughts on differents aspects of my crazy life:


On The Menu:
I eat some combination of rice and beans about 14 times a week. Sometimes it's rice and eggs for breakfast, and sometimes it's beans and eggs. But more often it's rice and beans. Actually, Nicaraguans are very proud of their famous national dish, called gallopinto (guy-o peento; it means "painted rooster"), which is actually rice and beans, but totally different, because in gallopinto, the rice and beans are mixed together.

Upon surveying this week's menu for example, rice is listed 15 times, while beans are listed at a rare low of 9... but time will tell.


On My Daily Routine:
Morning comes at about 5:30, as I'm currently trying to transition my schedule over to better suit the kid's days. Currently I'm house-sitting/surrogate-parenting for the missionary who is away, so I have an 10-year-old living with me in the missionary's house about 30 feet from the orphanage. I'm trying to use that first half hour to start waking up and getting ready, so I can wake Ana up at 6 and we can both go over to join the children at 6:30 for devotions.

After devotions comes breakfast and at 8AM the kids begin their homework and study time. A retired teacher named Profe Selfida comes to tutor the kids, and I am taking the kids out in groups of 3-5 at a time for English classes, provided they've finished their homework. This added motivation is helping the kids to settle down a bit better during their 2-3 hour study time... the opportunity to learn English is a very strong motivator for these kids; it's one of the things they value most. A more detailed post about my English class adventures is forthcoming, so keep posted.

After study time, the kids change into their school uniforms and bring their backpacks over to be checked. We make sure they have their notebooks, a pencil, and nothing suspicious in there, and each child recieves a candy and, if he could recite the daily memory verse at morning devotions, a pack of cookies as well.

The kids eat lunch, get patted down to make sure they're not carrying anything extra with them to school (like iPods, for example), and then load onto the bus to head to school. In Central America, kids usually only go to school for half-days.

In the afternoon, my schedule varies depending on the day. On Monday, I go in on the bus to go grocery shopping for he week with Profe Ana, one of the staff here. Wednesdays are my free days, which I hope to begin spending in Jinotega, perhaps going for a swim at the pool there; that is, if the Nicaraguan men employed there aren't always as creepy as they were last time. Otherwise, my afternoon is open to some flexibility, sometimes including a nap, sometimes a book, and sometimes some e-mailing, facebook-stalking, or, like today, blogging.

The kids get home from school at 5, and it's mayhem, and energy, and getting dark out. At 6 we eat supper, and in the evening the kids have 15 minutes of Nintendo each (or, rather, those who've stayed out of trouble do). Other kids have an hour-long time-out in the gym-type area called the cancha. Sometimes 10-year-old Luis and I take turns throwing a volleyball in the air and seeing how many times we can clap our hands (audibly, that's the rule) before catching it again... my record, by the way, is 7.

At 7:30, I plan to start heading back over to the house to help Ana get ready for bed. Bedtime is at 8, which means that the kids should be in bed by 8:30, but since we have a girl who comes here every night to put the kids to bed and get them up in the morning, and since I find that the kids goof around and procrastinate more at bedtime when they have me there to entertain, I'm going to leave the bedtime routine in Samara's capable hands. Also, now that I'm house/Ana-sitting, if I were to stay over here until the kids were in bed, Ana wouldn't be in bed until 9, and I would never sleep.

My new bedtime is going to be 9:30 - that is, if I can ever get my nighthawk body to fall asleep at such an unthinkable hour! Hopefully a couple days of no naps and crazy kids will exhaust me to the point where this will work out.

The finer schedule details here are in part because of my recent move from the orphanage over to the house, and partly because I've recently been annointed the Gringa-In-Charge, which has required me to devise an in-depth coping mechanism (as outlined in part above).


On Being Esther:
The home was recently visited by Doña Sandra, the American woman who both began the ministry of Children of Destiny Nicaragua, and adopted her Nicaraguan-born daughter, Ana, when Ana 7 months old. She was here for just over 24 hours; her week involved such events as flying to Nicaragua and back, and getting married three days later back in her hometown. She's a busy woman and currently the sole fundraiser for Children of Destiny Nicaragua.

Sandy's visit here was whirlwind, and she came in part to officially install me as the home's temporary Gringa-In-Charge, or, as she preferred to call me, Esther, as in "for such a time as this"... She was pleased with my enthusiasm, encouraged by my experience as a program director, and confident in my capabilities (or at least that's what she told me). She gave the kids a few harsh warnings to behave, and we had a staff meeting with the core four caregivers here, and when she departed, I found myself on my own, without instruction or guidance, and in charge. (To clarify, before her visit I had merely been on my own without instruction or guidance. No one had been in charge.)

Sandy firmly believed that my moving into Joy's house would be a blessing and an added comfort, while I was quite comfortable in my unadorned but conveniently, centrally located room in the orphanage. Also, while having Ana as my roommate in the orphanage had been managable, it had not been without its moments, and I knew that the demands on me would only increase if we were to be cloistered together in the house, where there is one key, and she has come to expect countless additional liberties that she isn't privy to while living in the home. I had come into my meeting with Sandra planning to flatly refuse her offer/request that I move over to stay in the house with Ana, but when she explained that Joy was concerned about her house sitting empty and being broken in to, I caved and decided to re-adjust my boundaries in order to care for Joy's home in her absence. (If you're wondering who Joy is, I'm getting there.)

I had recieved about an hour's instruction in managing our finances, and I'm finding it quite challenging stretching our shoestring budget across the month; when I took over, with three weeks left to the month, there was only about 1/4 of the budget left... apparently that's normal after paying the hydro, etc. To my eyes there was barely enough money for two weeks of groceries, and that's without any other expenses, which of course, there have been.

Please consider these points to be my prayer requests; I know that this is in God's hands, but I definitely need him to be the God-In-Charge here, 'cause this gringa definitely can't do it alone.


On Joy:
Joy is the missionary who runs Hogar Amiguitos. For about the last two and a half months, Joy has been home in the States with her family, as her mom is essentially on her deathbed, with very little time left after being overtaken by cancer.

Joy is also Ana's surrogate mother here in Nicaragua, as Ana's adoptive mother lives and works in the States and Ana is currently enrolled in the Nicaraguan school system, after having trouble adjusting and fitting in to the American system (Ana is a Nicaraguan-American dual citizen and fully bilingual). Joy is something like an Aunt to Ana, and had agreed to take Ana into her care for the year for Sandy to let Ana give the Nicaraguan school system another try when Joy's mother's health crisis suddenly arose, ironically landing Ana back in the orphanage, in a manner of speaking.

While I have never met Joy, I have spoken to her several times by phone and Skype, and everyone speaks very highly of her work here, her ability to manage this place on an impossible budget (perhaps she's part Mennonite?), and her natural giftedness in relating to, working with, and showing love to the children who call this place home. I find that I have some rather large shoes to fill.


On Exhaustion:
Sunday, about three days after being "appointed", I began to feel the familiar feelings of drowning in stress that had essentially been my daily experience while program directing at Dauphin Bible Camp. When I finally sat down to eat, about two hours late, I realized that I was too exhausted to even eat, and scraped off most of my plate into the slop bucket (those who have worked alongside me at Dauphin Bible Camp have seen this play out day after day after day, coupled with a more-lenient-than-usual personal hygiene regimen that I will to this day defend as "not gross"). I realized at that moment that I needed to take some drastic measures if I wanted to be able to thrive here for the next few months, and possibly even in order to survive. With no one to throw the responsibility back to, and with nothing to do but buck up, I started working on my new routine, to incorporate the added responsibilities of house- and Ana-sitting, running the finances, while still trying to offer nurture and love to 18 other parentless children. Thus the development of my new weekly routine began.


On Being Organized And Disciplined:

... let's just say I'm new at it.

Time will tell.


On Parenting 19 kids:
Wow, am I unqualified! However, God's been gracious, in the midst of many immense challenges (like iPod-boy, for one). I am learning a lot, and every week as my relationship with the children grows and our mutual trust deepens, it gets a bit easier. Please pray that God will give me a supernatural ability to understand the needs of these children, because they're definitely in real need of a lot of the right kinds of love, compassion, and discipline.


On Being A Classroom Nazi:
I LOVE it. Much more to come on that!


On Friends Back Home:
I love you, I miss you, and hearing from you lights up my life.


And finally, what you've all been waiting for.... the Comments Tutorial!

Hey reader! If you have not read the events in my previous post entitled "Small Change," stop cheating and start reading! Click here to go to part 1.

For those returning, I left off at about last Sunday afternoon, shortly after I had discovered that one of our little residents had jacked and sold my iPod. I spent the majority of the afternoon talking with my offender, who was crying pretty hard at the beginning of our chat. I asked him if he often steals, and if he had stolen before, and he said that yes, he does and yes, he had. We got out my notebook and I asked him to write down the things he had stolen. He confessed to having taken several toys to school and throwing them away or destroying them. We talked for a long time about his need to change his heart, his need to repent, and his need to make right his offenses in order to be free from them. He needed to actively change his identity. After the end of the conversation I went to relay the contents to Ana, the site's social worker, who quickly informed me of other theft offenses that the boy had not disclosed in our chat.

Re-enter office; interrogation phase 2.

I challenged the kid for lying to me, by telling me that he had only stolen two items before, and omitting a vast number of bigger items, one of which being one of the workers' cell phones, which had been discovered in his pocket one morning in the pre-school pat-down. Then the real disclosure began. He confessed to a long list of offenses, some which he had already been caught and punished for, and others that he had gotten away with. From his list which included money, notebooks, pencils, pants, and candy, we were left with about 20 items that he had never repaid or made right. I told him that his consequence would be to make these things right, and that it would be important that he make as many of these right as he possibly could.

I knew I would need time to decide the finer details of his punishment and I wanted to bounce my ideas off the other staff here, so for Sunday night and Monday morning our thief was confined to his room except for mealtime and study time.

Also, there was the slightest glimmer of hope still hanging on the horizon that my iPod might yet be recovered. One of the staff from our other home in Los Cedros was visiting the orphanage with his wife, and he was the missing ingredient that would certainly be required if we wanted any chance of getting it back: an intimidating Nicaraguan man who is well acquainted with how to get things done "Nica-style".

Now, when I say an intimidating Nicaraguan man, I should really clarify that Joel (ho-EL) is very kind and pretty hilarious. However, one man is worth about a million women around here when it comes to disciplining children, and that intimidation factor and the ability to make a kid stop sassing and start crying was definitely going to come in handy. Joel was optimistic about the possibility that he might be able to get the child customer and his family to return the iPod using a little Nicaraguan muscle power, which he considered may or may not involve greasing a cop to put some legal pressure on the family for a cost of about 100 cords, or the equivalent of 5 bucks. This all, of course, in the very unlikely case that the iPod had not immediately been resold by its new owner for a more appropriate sum.

Sadly, the "rent-a-cop" route proved a road left untravelled, but on Monday morning Joel showed up at the school with the kids and had our little thief point out which classmate had been his customer. The kid said he still had the iPod at home, and so Joel and him walked to his home (with the permission of the school's administrator). Upon their arrival the mom said, "You here for the iPod?" (not in the helpful, honest way you might be thinking, but moreso in the "you think you're getting that back?" kind of way... to which Joel replied that she could go to jail or something similar that apparently worked).

When Joel and the kid returned to the school, my iPod had been reclaimed, and only by the incredible grace of God. In a later phone conversation with one of the missionaries, she told me that expensive things often get stolen and sold here, and nothing has ever come back, so this is a fortunate first for me.

As a side note, one of the possible reasons that my iPod may not have changed hands over the course of the weekends involves an occurance that no one has yet been able to explain. At the school, the kids were saying that the kid who bought my iPod hadn't been able to get into it to use it because it was locked or protected by some sort of password. Of course, since I've never had any sort of password on my iPod before, I assumed the kids were just not bright enough to figure out how to turn off the "lock" feature that keeps an iPod from turning on and running out the battery. However, when my iPod was returned to me, sure enough, the only thing that will now come up on the screen is a picture of a combination lock which requires a four-digit numerical password. Having never known about or used this iPod feature before in my life, I therefore currently have a $300 electronic paperweight that even I cannot use or have access to, until either the point several months down the road when I resync it with my home computer or that magical day when I discover the magic number somewhere between 0000 and 9999. Lovely.

Anyways, having recuperated my (merely decorative) iPod, my thoughts returned to deciding on an appropriate punishment.

This kid is one tough cookie. While he has apologized for the theft, he plays the adults here like a fiddle, which is easy to do when you care far less for them than they do for you. Between his crying, confessing, and apologizing, he has clearly shown that neither his heart nor his nature have changed, having on one occasion declared brazenly that it was "worth it", and on another occasion, that he will most likely steal again. In reality, all he cares about is avoiding harsh consequences however he can, and my heart keeps breaking daily as I become dissilusioned and re-educated by these children.

For some of these kids, here are the facts:
Some of these kids grew up on the streets, and stealing is what they know and how they live.
Some of these kids live here and do just enough to stay and not be kicked out, but never give their heart or open themselves up at all.
Some of these kids have no real ability to bond or connect emotionally as a result of the traumas and experiences of their early lives.
Some of these kids will be well-fed children, and grow up to be strong, healthy criminals when they leave this place, but for the saving grace of God.

This is a harsh but very vital reality here. Their possible fates, in some cases, are far less likely to doctor, policeman, or business owner than they are to be swindler, thief, or manipulator. And every day we can only hope and pray that God may use us to intervene in their hearts and lives, and that God may bless us to teach them well.

My little thief's consequences will involve working long, hard days on Saturday, for about 8 hours, for a period of time representative of the cost of the items that he has stolen. I say "representative" because for him to literally pay the costs of about $360 worth of items off would take him years, regardless of what virtual rate of pay he were assigned. I am requiring him to physically correct whatever of his offenses he possibly can, and so, as he works and accumulates equity against these debts, it is my hope that the orphanage will serve him by giving him or helping him purchase the items that he will need to repay to the people he took them from.

I want his punishment to be as real and as visceral as possible, but over the past few weeks I have gotten a glimpse of how deep his deception runs and how hard his heart has become. Truthfully, we will seek to serve him through good punishments and real consequences, but only God can redeem his life.

No one ever wants to believe such harsh and terrible things about a child, so please know that it isn't easy for me to say or believe these things. I would much rather believe that it was an honest mistake, a foolish choice; that he's a fine boy, with a bright future. But we will serve him well if we will address with honesty and bravery the nature of his heart and his sin.

Yesterday my friend Adam departed from the orphanage to return to the States after three months here, caring for and loving the children of Hogar Amiguitos. He went to all the boys' rooms at bedtime to give each one of them one last hug. My resident thief, after recieving his hug, looked Adam straight in the eye and in perfect English told him, "I want money."

Adam told me later that evening that his response flew out of his mouth before he could stop it; his limited Spanish cut right to the heart of the issue as he told the kid "Tu tienes un corazon negro;" "you have a black heart."

Adam felt bad that these would be his last words to the child; felt he had been too harsh; didn't know why he had chosen the words he did; but I honestly feel that his choice of words were perfectly selected by God Himself. There are far worse things that Adam could have said, in my opinion, to a shamelessly selfish boy, than the devastating truth.

If you have a few moments, and your faith moves you, would you please take a few moments to pray for the heart of my little 11-year-old thief? He is, as are we all, in desperate need of Christ's saving love.

The long and winding tale I am about to recount began with a friendship. Simple, pure, life-giving friendship. A tale of two friends, a terribly unfortunate misunderstanding, and the many tumultous moments that followed.

My friend's name is Adam. One of two American boys currently residing here, Adam is the 22-year-old nephew of the ministry's founder, and for the last two months he's been here getting to know the children of Hogar Amiguitos.

Adam and I became fast friends when I arrived. His fun-loving, easy-going, light-hearted Texan conversation style meshes well with my question-asking, hypothesis raising, joke-cracking, button-pushing ways. One of our first conversations led to me recommending he check out Driscoll's sermon series on the Song of Songs, which I had just recently watched on my iPod. He was interested, so on Thursday night I brought out my iPod for him to borrow so that he might watch them at his own convenience.

Fast-forward to Sunday afternoon, when Adam and I had caught a taxi into Jinotega and were wandering the streets, talking idly about our lives and religion, and in the course of conversation Driscoll came up again. I asked if he'd had the chance yet to watch any of the sermons on my iPod and I heard a response that froze me on the spot: "What do you mean? You never gave it to me."

It seemed that on Thursday night I, not wanting to shove my prostheletizing iPod down his throat, had somehow not made it clear to him that I was giving it to him to take it back to his room that night, and so both he and I had for three days assumed that the iPod was safely in the possession of the other. This assumption was, of course, aided by the fact that the iPod was not in the room the next day, and had not been seen lying around by us or anyone else since then.

Upon our return to the home, the rest of the story quickly unravelled itself:

One of the 11-year old boys had discovered the iPod in the salon on Friday morning, snuck it with him to school (despite our daily backpack checks and pat-downs), and had sold it to a 9-year-old boy in his class. Stories varied amongst the children about how much he had recieved for the item (which is a 30GB video iPod, originally costing about $300 and costing about the same to replace), but when it all boiled down, he had originally asked for 115 cordobas (which about $5.50 Canadian) but had recieved in the end 5 cordobas, or the equivalent of 25¢.

There are a lot of words that probably come to mind now, but I'm sure "smart kid" isn't one of them. More dissapointing to me than the fact that my iPod was long gone was that these kids don't even have the slightest knowledge of the cost (or the value) of the items that they so easily take and destroy or resell for less than a chocolate bar costs.

The emotions going through me could be discribed as nothing more than incredible sadness and grief, feelings which had nothing to do with a piece of electronics slightly bigger than a deck of cards. I felt sad and grieved for this boy and his actions, for how he so could quickly and so easily commit an act of such gravity, which could never so easily be undone. I also knew that he, as well of many other children here, know nothing else but to steal; and if caught, then to lie; and if punished, then to fight. And moreover, he, as the other children here, have no idea of the value of a dollar, which is in and of itself a very very sad thing.

As for my iPod, while it is no small thing, to me it is only a thing. It is a tool that I use for things like Driscoll Group, and while useful, my day-to-day life doesn't depend upon it. Truthfully, I would never have brought it with me to Nicaragua had I not been reconciled to the possibility of losing, breaking, or having it stolen here. To me, its value was that it held about 40 Mars Hill sermons, which allowed me to bring with me a lot more food for thought than I would have been able to carry in paperback form.

I had been told by the staff that I would be given the task of naming his concequences, and I had four main criteria for myself:
1) I wanted his punishment to involve some form of restitution (making it right),
2) I didn't want it to resemble the seemingly purposeless punishment of long-term solitary confinement in one's rooms that the boys often recieve for their most serious offenses.
3) I didn't want it to be more difficult than necessary.
4) I didn't want it to be considered "soft".

Honestly, what I want for this boy is a change of heart, which nothing external can impose. But I'm hoping and praying that God will reform his heart, and that my chosen punishment may be a part of a valuable and life-changing lesson for him. Optomistic, I know.

But what I truly want for this boy is for him to have seen his last day as a thief.

*There is, however a conclusion to this tale, which I will post whenever I can... it shall be entitled Small Change Pt 2.

******Comments Tutorial*****

Alright, as much fun as it is to talk about Steve, I imagine my Canadian friends and family would appreciate hearing something about what I've been doing here for the last week, apart from harassing Steve electronically. The time has come to introduce you to the children of Hogar Amiguitos.

Those who recieved my support letter should now be thinking, "Huh? I thought the place was called Casa Amistad!" Well, my astute friends, that would be wrong, and for two reasons:

1) I made a typo in my support letter, and wrote "Casa" Amistad, instead of "Hogar" Amistad. Casa means house, hogar means home, so it was an honest and more or less insignificant mistake.

2) The Children of Destiny Nicaragua website calls this home "Hogar Amistad", which means "home of friendship", while the actual name for the centre is "Hogar Amiguitos*", which means "home of little friends." Again, an almost irrelevant difference in the English.

However, as a result of these two factors, it turns out that no part of the name I was using for the orphanage in my support letters was right. Spanish - 1. Kelly - 0.

Alright, digressions aside, there are 19 children who call this place home, ranging in ages from 9-18. The kids at the orphanage kind divide naturally into several different groups, those being:
- the little girls (one 7-year-old, and one 8-year-old)
- the boys (ranging in ages from 9-13, but generally operating as one unit)
- Adan (our youngest boy, having just turned 9 last Sunday, Adan falls into his own category for reasons to be explained later)
- the big girls (sharing a room with the little girls, they are 11 and 12)
- las muchachas ("the teenage girls" - as well as having a different scholastic schedule,
they have different privileges and responsities from the younger kids); and
- Ana. (Ana also falls into her own category for reasons to be explained later).

Today I'll tell you a bit about our two little nine-year old girls:

Luz and Xochilt are adorable, mischevious, intelligent little partners in crime.

Luz (which literally means "light", and is pronounced "luce"), is eight, and is often called Luzita ("lucita"), which simply means, "little Luz."

Xochilt (age seven) probably has the coolest name ever (sorry, Steve), which is pronounced "SO-cheal".

The first thing I wanted to do when I got here was curl up on a couch with these little cuties and read a storybook with them... which led me to the immediate realization that there are no couches here at Hogar Amiguitos. I know that couches are simply not a Nicaraguan custom, but to me it seems so wrong for 19 kids to have no place to be cuddled and read to, to sit comfortably, and that they watch their movies every Friday night seated on those white plastic garden chairs that are a low-budget standard in every Canadian backyard or porch. For some reason, my paradigm for loving parenting and a welcoming home is inextricably linked to owning a soft, inviting, and comfortable couch couch. Anyone else feel that way?

Have you ever seen those fiesty, tough, cute kids? I mean, not the shy ones, who are sweet in their own way, but those sweet little faces that just break your heart with the firmness of their jaw and the adorable inadequacy in their tightly clenched fist? That's Luz and Xochilt.

I admire and respect Luz and Xochilt. In school, they work hard, and at home, they play hard and laugh hard. They've each been through their own hard histories, but there is a light and a strength in their eyes that deserves major kudos.

Because to me, far more important than what life gives you is what you choose to do with the life you've been given.


* "ito/ita" is a part added into many nouns in the spanish as a term of endearment or affection... it turns a word like amigo (friend) into amiguito (little friend); chela (blondie) into chelita (little blondie), gringa (white girl) into gringita (little white girl). The affectionate nickname recently given to me by Xochilt is gringita bonita, or pretty little white girl. Most of the time I hate being called gringita down here (for example, by forty-year-old men in the streets), but when it's coming from Xochilt, I suddenly find I like the sound of that.

It seems that several people have had a hard time discovering how to leave comments on my blog, so I plan on including this quick tutorial in my posts over the next few weeks.

There are two ways to get to the comments page for my blog:

1) When you arrive at my mainpage, my most recent blog entry displays on the frontpage. At the top, from left to right, you will see the title, then the date, and then a small number (usually reading either 0, 1, or 2.) This is the number of comments that have been left for that particular entry so far. The number will turn yellow when you hover over it, revealing that it is a link. If you click the link, it will reload that entry with the comments page. At this point you can leave your own comment on the entry as well as read the comments that others have left.

2) By clicking on the "pull" string from any page on my blog, you will access a drop-down menu that will provide you with links to previous and archived entries. If you are wanting to comment on the current entry, one click on the title will load that entry again with the comments page. This method is handy if you are wishing to comment on back-entries as well. Please note, however, that each entry's drop-down menu will only display the entries previous to it. To access the most recent entries again, you may need to return to my mainpage by re-entering the full domain address.