Let me describe to you all something called “a typical night in my life.” Are you ready? I don’t think you are.

After a long day of ministry, walking about 18 miles in the pouring rain and handing out flowers to women all over town for the sole reason of “Dios es amor”, getting ready for church consists of throwing on a long skirt and a baggy teeshirt, and maybe putting on a headband. These things are worn with the same Keens or Chacos that gave you horrible blisters earlier in the day, and bandaids. Dinner consists of plantain chips and onions bought for 10 cordoba from a street vender and an overpriced iced tea, and you walk to your new friend Brenda’s store, waiting for the Pastor of the church to come pick you up in his car. It begins to pour rain. The pastor, the nicest man in the world, pulls up to the shop….. on a bike. To your unexpressed horror, you realize that you must walk another excessive distance in the same Keens or Chacos that gave you horrible blisters from walking in the rain earlier that day, only this time you’re wearing a skirt and are carrying a bible. You don’t have a jacket, and it’s pitch black out. You have no idea where you’re going, how you’re going to get home, and how late you’re going to be out. You walk through the flooded, dirty, muddy, seemingly booby trapped streets to a tiny house in the boondocks of the boondocks. The church consists of 6 gringas, the Pastor, and four Nicaraguans. The music is loud, fast, not one single person in the room is clapping at the same time or on beat, and the songs last for about 8-9 minutes at a time. The pastor preaches a beautiful sermon on healing, collects an offering, and says we’re going to pray for a woman in the room with stomach cancer. Everyone lays hands on her, and begins to pray. Almost immediately, the woman falls to the ground, seizing from the stomach. You all keep your hands laid on her, praying and singing healing over her; the room is obviously filled with the presence of God. You all truly believe that the woman is healed. From the depths of your heart, you believe the Lord healed that woman of her cancer that night. Within a few minutes of this ending, there’s a centipede bite that requires a clinic and a taxi, two huge dogs trying to kill each other in the middle of the tiny room, a power outage in all of Leon, a lot of walking in dark streets and trying to find a phone (and maybe stopping for Eskimo along the way….), a taxi ride of two blocks because the streets are too dangerous, and sitting in the pitch black of your hostal mindlessly eating bad cereal.

While writing a letter to a certain friend of mine (that I miss very much) during the church service the other night, I was sitting there thinking about all the things that I absolutely hate about Nicaragua; the romantic society, the burning trash, how horrible the kids are to each other, the wild dogs everywhere – all these things.

But then the Lord, of course, interceded my thoughts, and said “Catalina. You’re sitting here thinking about all these things that you hate, but what about all the things that are good? All the things that I’ve blessed you with? Let yourself feel love for this place, because you DO love this place. Yes, youre heart doesn’t belong here, and that’s ok. I didn’t intend for it to be here. But I did intend for you to grow here, and it’s still ok for you to love here. You’re sitting here, about to speak at a bonfire, something you love to do. Don’t let those moments slip by.”

I would like to let you all know that I love that the above day has become my norm. I love the culture of sharing, the community, the family, the passion, the fact that people’s homes and churches and towns and families don’t ‘have walls.’ I love the hot sun, the volcanic rock (even though it seriously damages my body from time to time), I love the sunburn and horrible tanlines I get from running in circles around our severely unevenly grounded compound.

I’ve realize that, in fact, I am NOT an American living in Nicaragua. You know how you just kind of exist in a place and accept it as home? I’ve realized…. These crazy days, this place, these people, that’s my home. Home is not defined by a house, a structure with four walls, a last name, a church with pews. That the world has ‘no walls’ and that God has ‘no walls’ and hence, I should have ‘no walls.’ Everyone is my family, everywhere is my home. Hence, I am not an American living in Nicaragua, but a lover, a sojourner, one who lives and sees and gives, I AM. And I am HERE. And I am HOME. I am not defined by a denomination, or a country, a skin color, a hairstyle, a culture, a language. I am free, I am broken, I am here, choosing into joy, for such a time as this. I have victory, and I have miles to go. I am in this moment, and I have no regrets. I’m not going to look back on these days and ask myself “what if I had given more?” because I’m trying my dang best to give everything.

You may look at my life and say “wow, I’m glad that God didn’t call me to do that” because that’s uncomfortable to you, that’s scary to you, you don’t want to leave the comfort of your four walled home and the definition of your last name, your air conditioned church, the convenience of your car and hot shower and your walmart, the blessing of your language, your tv and your washing machine.

You’re missing out.

The world, by design, has no walls, and you have the capacity to love more things than you ever thought you could.

Leah Nicole Novak – I miss you more than I can bear. We’ve been inseparable for almost all my life, and my senior year was so hard while you were at college because suddenly I had to function without you. I hope it’s not the same on your end this time – know that I love you, I’m praying for you, and I’m always here for you. You’ll always be my sister, my best friend, my Hooves. The day of the woman with the cancer was the day you wrote me the note with your mom’s favorite verse, Psalm 23. Coincidence? No way. I encourage you with that now as you encouraged me with it. I love you, and I’m praying for you. Refuse to sink.