One year ago, John and I rented a car and headed north past Managua, past Matagalpa, past Esteli and Ocotal and up into the pine forests to the town of Jalapa which sits just shy of the Honduran border. We spent the night in the countryside, although it was accessed from right in town. Hotel Campestre El Patano. A German man and his blonde-haired, blue-eyed teenage son ran the place, which normally (read: during non-crisis years) is bustling, he said, with mission groups running projects nearby. On this day we were the only ones there. The next morning a gentleman …