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The Nicaraguan church that we worked with had concrete floors, plastic lawn chairs for seating, oscillating fans as an a/c substitute, and a garden hose tied to a sink as a source of running water. 

As the worship band warmed up on stage before the Thursday night service, naturally, my expectations were low.

The worship band was, and I exaggerate not, louder than any concert that I’ve ever been to. Literally. I almost had to sit down a few times. 

The music was CRANKIN. I looked around…nobody was putting on a show. These people who had nothing were singing out to God…eyes closed…hands raised…giving thanks…praising…joyful.

I wonder what Mr. “church music should only consist of a piano and a hymn book that smells like moth balls” would have thought about this experience.

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