Sacrifice

I am all too often under the impression that I am making sacrifices.  The other night I was set straight by a women and her family who represented true sacrifice.

Saundra, one of the workers at Casa de Esperanza, invited us out to her village.  Two of her six children were being baptized at a tiny Catholic church.  I was excited to support her and her family because she has always been kind to me.  But the service was so long, and some of that excitement faded.  But a few hours later the ceremony had concluded.  We walked back across the dirt road and over to Saundra’s house.  It was a typical Honduran house; dirt floor, few rooms, and very small.  But, she had managed o make room at the table for our group of just over ten.  She had insisted on making s dinner.  I figured it was an insult if we did not accept.  Not a single member of the family sat around the table.  They made sure we were all well accommodated long before they rested their feet.  Saundra prepared beef, rice, salad, and potato.  As I was eating the delicious meal, I noticed her family was eating significantly smaller portions.  Is hurt me to think that they didn’t have the money to be providing so much food.  But, their sacrifice embodied the love of Christ. 

She reminded me of the woman with the alabaster jar of perfume. 

“While Jesus was in Bethany in the home of a man known as Simon the Leper, a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, which she poured on his head as he was reclining at the table.

 When the disciples saw this, they were indignant. "Why this waste?" they asked.”

            -Matthew 26:6-8-

I tend to misunderstand true sacrifice.  To be served by those who have so little is a blessing from God.

The Stresses of Human Philosophy

As a human, my mindset has limitations.  I wish it weren’t so.  I worry and stress over few things in life.  I am a very laid back individual.  I would like to say it is because I put all my trust in God, but that is untrue.  The truth is I am flawed.  But when I do stress it is usually fairly serious.  The truth is my human tendencies are getting the better of me right now.  In this leadership role for our upcoming missions trip, the responsibilities seem endless.  But that’s not what has me worried.  We need to raise close $30,000 among 24 of us to make the quota for the trip.  Currently we are $6,000 short.  I thought if we just raise $2,400 for the two houses we could have less the team needed to come up with.  Then I could have some more breathing room.  Our missions team arrives one week from today, December 12^th.  It seems like such a small portion of the money, but we have so little time.

 

I would like to sit and worry about the money, loathe myself for being an incapable leader.  I could keep using “I, me, and we.” But I realize it’s not about me or even the team.  I am failing, again, to attribute to God what is his.  This trip is his and he knows how the money will get here and when.   I need look no further than the title of my blog site, but his word always puts it best.

 

 

-“Know therefore that the LORD your God is God; he is the faithful God, keeping his covenant of love to a thousand generations of those who love him and keep his commands.”-  Deuteronomy 7:9

 

Please keep our team in your prayers.  We serve a faithful God indeed.

 

If you would like to know more about the trip details, you can contact me at mrwallace4@gmail.com.  I will be attempting to blog throughout the trip as well.

Kindergarten Graduation

Because of a late arrival I did not get to see the kids that night.  But I was awoken by the sweet sound of thirteen angels singing out of tune.  It was about 6:30 am, but I didn’t mind too much because I knew I could participate in naptime later that afternoon.  But the real event was not my arrival but the joy of kindergarten graduation. 

            The reunion that morning was great but short lived as the other children went to visitation day in the city.  I was left behind to play with the kindergarteners before their big day.  We got dressed up and hiked over to the little room schoolhouse.  The place was crowded with the children and their parents.  There were directors and presidents of things I did not understand.  The mayor of Santa Ana was even there.  This was a big deal and I got to be a part of it. 

            Monica, Fernando, and Daniela were all graduating. Monica was happy to be there.  But it was her 2^nd or 3^rd year in kindergarten.  She was born with some mental incapability and she was finally passing, making us all proud.  Fernando’s face beamed all day long with pride.  It was so cute to see him walk up to the front and get his diploma.  His walk personified his fulfillment as he bounced with each step.  Daniela was quiet and almost bashful as we praised her.  She didn’t seem to glory in the attention as much as the other kids.  But her beautiful smile came out now and then.  You could see her joy and sense of accomplishment.  After the big ceremony, we sat outside in the warm sun and enjoyed lunch and company.  The kids were playing with their balloons, which they loved.

            I was proud of these kids like they were my own.  I was delighted to fill in as their Papi.  

Traveling

I hit the road or the air again on Thanksgiving Day.  I was up early and on my way from Cleveland.  The airports seemed emptier than usual.  It left a eerie and lonely feeling for a holiday.  I shared the day with many other forlorn travelers away from family and friends.  I found few comforts at my layover in Baltimore as the day was gloomy and the airport somber.   But in Houston during my four and a half hour layover, I found familiarity in some Thanksgiving Day football.  The games were one sided and a little less than entertaining, but it brought comfort.  I also enjoyed a little diner called Ruby’s at Houston.  It was full of booths with a single person in each.  I thought in my head about pushing them all together and having our own feast, but it ended as a thought.  I made sympathizing small talk with the workers as I ate my burger.

            I did get to enjoy my Thanksgiving Day turkey.  Unfortunately it came in the form of a small airline turkey sandwich barely filling and hardly tasty.   But I enjoyed the concept.

            I arrived in San Pedro Sula at 10 pm.  While patiently waiting in line at customs I began to speak wit an American couple.  They were backpacking the country and had just made their way from Seattle.  Our conversation was cut short my the rapid flow of the custom lines. And I didn’t mind.  I waited at the airport, longing for familiar faces, for about an hour.  Then David, Ashley, Carlos and Eduardo walked through the door.  It was a soothing sight.  We began our four-hour journey to Tegucigalpa.  David is such a trooper.  He drove the entire trip, straight through our lingering exhaustion.  Around 3 am we came to a rolling stop at the gates of the orphanage.  It was a beautiful sight even through my half closed heavy eyelids.  I had no trouble falling a sleep after my near 24-hour day.  I made it!

How Beautiful upon the Mountain...

I had a great birthday this year. I got to celebrate with some new friends at a little restaurant with less than ten tables in Honduras called Portica. Mark and Lori joined us. Cha Chi and Octi graced us with there presents. Gina came along. And of course Ashley, Jen and Sam were there to celebrate. We fellowshipped. We laughed. We ate some good food. Then we went over to Baskin Robbins for some Dulce con Leche ice cream. After all, it’s not a birthday without some desert. I enjoyed the evening very much.
But the real celebration took place personally. Earlier in the day, we went to Nueva Oriental, a small mountain village outside of the city. It is a poor area with many children. Their parents can not afford to feed kids. So, a church built a feeding center to provide at least one meal a day for the kids. They were not getting fully nourished, but they were not starving.
I had the privilege of giving on my birthday. I was able to work with the ladies in the feeding center. I loaded up tray of bowls that contained beans and rice. I took to food into a room full of eager children crowding several picnic tables. I knew they were hungry by the way they devoured the food. It truly is better to give than to receive.
After lunch, we walked the mountain side with an entourage of children. We were looking for possible properties on which we can build houses. Two houses that we found were poorly built and overcrowded. In the future, we hope to bring them love and a new home.

---How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who announces peace, who brings good news, who announces salvation, who says to Zion, "Your God reigns."--- Isaiah 52:7

I felt God’s beauty in my dirt covered feet.

It's Not Good-bye

Sunday as the day wore on, I began to dread the night. I knew that I had to leave those precious little faces at Casa de Esparanza. So I enjoyed myself; playing games, holding children, and of course jumping on the trampoline. I had a joyous day with the children. I almost forgot that I my departure was approaching the next morning.
Movie time was over and the kids scattered to the room. I sat in the kitchen with Ashley. And while she was talking, I was trying to build up the strength to say farewell to those little hearts. Finally, I just went. First to the boys’ room, Fernando gave me a long lingering hug and kept asking “why?” Bryan and Fito both skipped that, and asked me when I was coming back, following the question by jumping into my arms and offering bear hugs. I made it through one room, but the most difficult was yet to come.
I entered the girls’ room, my heart beating fast. I began to tell each one good-bye, purposely saving one for last. Katty simply said “no” when I said I was leaving. Cindy crawled into my arms and I held her awhile. I could see she was distraught by my upcoming leave. I felt such delight in the relationship I had formed with Cindy on this trip, and I was disheartened to walk away now. After telling each girl just how much I loved them, I crawled into Daniela’s bed. “Papi! You sleep in my bed tonight.” How could I say no? I put my arm around her she slid in close and kissed my cheek. I don’t know whether she didn’t understand or whether she refused to understand that I was leaving in the morning. Either way, we whispered, giggled and cuddled for at least an hour. She loved playing with my hand, and intertwining her little brown fingers with my large white ones.
I laid in there and attempted to get the girls to go to sleep. It was hard to be stern when I wanted to stay up and whisper and play with them. I knew my time was short now. Daniela was being a little loud at times, but I just was too soft to scold her at this time.
Her eyes began to get heavy and they would close every once in a while. But bless her heart, she fought it; for every last minute she could spend with me. It broke me. I am glad it was dark and she could not see the weakness streaming from my eyes and down my cheek. I sobbed for my little princess.
She grabbed my arm, wrapped it around her and rolled over. She was about ready to fall asleep but she wanted the comfort of me around her. As my hand rested on her little chest, I could feel her little heart beat in my hand. Although, I am certain it is she who holds my heart in her hand. I lay there beside myself, wondering how I would ever be ready to leave the little girl who has captivated my heart.
She fell asleep; arm around my neck. I just watched her sleep through watery eyes for the next half hour. She was so beautiful, and my heart ached to not see her everyday. Soon the tears blocked my vision; I put her arm around her blanket and slid out of the bed. I sat on the back porch and wept for her and all the children until my eyes were swollen.
The next morning they all wished me happy birthday, but after the fun it was time to leave. “Adios” they would say. “No es adios” (It’s not good-bye) I would snap back. It’s “Hasta Luego” (see you later) God willing, I will see those kids again. I don’t think I can handle to not.

The Dump

There is a place where your food and garbage go when you do not consume it. It is a filthy place that smells of rotting things and decay. You wouldn’t want to visit because the site of the decomposition would make you ill. The smell would be too hard to handle for a weak stomach. That place is a dump.
There is a dump here in Tegucigalpa where the majority of the waste goes. There are mounds of decomposing garbage that cover a mountain side. It has a sickening odor that can be detected from a mile away. Yet despite the unpleasant characteristics of this place, my heart bled for it.
For in this wretched dump, over a thousand people find hope. To them, someone’s garbage can satisfy a hunger craving so deep that it invokes desperation. Someone’s trash can be converted into a home, if you can even call it that. The people fight each other, hungry cows, swarming vultures and other animal for scraps. They do not live in the dump; they simply survive in the dump.
From only word of mouth, my heart cried out for these people. I wanted to do something more. I knew that they went in and fed them once in a while. My desire was to meet their needs in a better way. We bought some bread and peanut butter and made over two hundred sandwiches. It seemed like such a simple meal and I hoped it would suffice. On our way into the dump, we stopped at a local pulparia, a small grocery stand, to buy bags of water. We bought out the whole store, and still did not have enough. So, Ashley and David hopped on this man’s truck in a successful attempt to purchase more water right out of the back. The scent of the dump had already reached me and dump trucks were steadily streaming up and down the road. I tensed up, for I feared what I was about to experience.
We followed the trucks up a hill a little ways and then up a drive that was lined with shouting dirty faces. My heart sank. The smell grew more and more intense as we climbed the dirty slope into the dump. As we traveled along, we saw people scraping the bottom of garbage bags hoping to quench the pains in their stomach. They had cracked buckets and crooked wheel barrels filled with garbage. We called to them and offered lunch. They a look of hope brightened their filthy faces and ran, as if we might pull away, to the car for a peanut butter sandwich and a bag of water. My eyes began to well up with tears. I didn’t know if it was from the smells or the sights. Either way, I continued to give sandwiches out as quickly as I could. Filthy hands coated grime continued to reach in the car and I knew there was a hungry soul at the other end, a child of God without food and water.
The sun beat down on these people in their compost covered clothing. I could see the desperation in their movements. But I also saw depleted hearts. They moped around kicking and pushing their way through garbage they didn’t want, but needed. A smile was a rarity in such an awful place. But the dirty faces with missing teeth and scruffy beards brightened with smiles provoked by peanut butter. Peanut butter. I take so many things for granted, as I eat whatever I please. Inside, I felt as filthy as the faces that haunted me.
We fed until we had reached as many as we could. Thoughts of prayer for these people filled my heart. I know we didn’t get to feed them all and that pains me. There was a crowd of people, cows, and birds of prey at the bottom of a large hill probing and fighting to find anything to stop the hurt. I don’t understand such injustices in this world, so all I can do is pray to the God who makes good out of situations like this and offer myself.
We left the dump. Two hundred some odd peanut butter sandwiches later I felt like I did very little. I was truly humbled. I was in a solemn mood for the rest of the day and I continued to pray for the dirt covered faces that had not left me. The images and scents I experienced of the city dump outside Tegucigalpa, Honduras will not soon be forgotten.

A Kind Man

Two weeks ago, we visited a family in San Miguel. Like many people in the country, they lived in poverty. They were in need of food so Jen bought them enough to get by for now. Jen had a special connection with the family. While she was in San Miguel, months ago, shrieks drew her to their house. The mother had recently birthed a child and that child now lay lifeless. God has a way of connecting hearts among tragedy. Jen has visited and helped this family since the horrific day that they became acquainted.
During our visit, we learned the father Don Francisco was trying to acquire enough material to build a better house. Their current house was a mud brick hut with two rooms. In one room, they had a double size mattress to sleep the family of five. Across the dirt floor and through the door way, is another room used as a makeshift kitchen. As we sat there with the family enjoying the company, I noticed something peculiar.
Don Francisco was a kind man. It was very seldom that I saw a Honduran man treat his wife and family with such tenderness. His wife was partially deaf, and had some difficulty speaking. He seemed to cater to her every need and understand her with ease. He also spent the majority of his paycheck on juice for us in a display of radical hospitality. So when the opportunity arose to assist Don Francisco in building his new home, the answer was without hesitation.
A week later we returned with the six brothers to begin a house. Mark Connell also came to help with another Honduran named David. Manpower was not a shortage and we were ready to work. The land needed leveled because he wanted to build an upper room and the terrain accommodated his wish. But much leveling was still required. So we began to even out the dirt and chip away and the rocky soil. It was enjoyable to watch the brother put forth such unselfish effort to help another. I was sure those little boys would quit after an hour or so, but the proved me wrong. There was no give in their desire to work. Now of course, there was some play involved and they may have been sidetracked at times, but they were more help than I ever would have imagined.
Johnny, the oldest boy who had always lived with the mom, surprised me most. He was a hard nosed kid who had never received much compassion. Johnny had so much fight in him, and desire for accomplishment. I tried hard through broken Spanish to compliment him, for I feared he had never received such encouragement. It must have worked because a smile would break through his determined scowl every time I told him how strong I thought he was.
It was a long day of work and moving dirt, but none worked harder than Don Francisco himself. I appreciated that greatly. He could have sat back and watched us build for him, but his kind heart would not let him do that. Even his wife had been hauling buckets of dirt. We had to make her stop once and a while and take a break.
By the end of the day, I didn’t look like we accomplished too much. But, our bodies felt like we did. Don Francisco was so appreciative of what little we did. And he had a foundation ready to build a new home. I was touched by such warmth from a man in a culture that encourages firm, tough men. I pray that more help will come his way on his new house and that God will continue to live throughout Don Francisco.

Brothers

As we made our long trip back from Le Cieba, we received a phone call. The five brothers that had once been at the orphanage had called us on the way to Roatan, letting us know Francisco had hurt his arm. On our way back, we spoke again to them, and they said he had broken it. A decision needed to be made on whether or not we should get him to a hospital. It had already been about five days since the accident. He had fallen off of the pila (outdoor cement sink) and injured his arm. Even with a long night of driving already ahead of us, we decided to climb the mountain and rescue our little friend from permanent damage in his arm.
The addition to the trip was another hour and a half up a mountain side in Comayagua. It looked more like a jungle than anything I had yet seen in Honduras. There was much danger in climbing the mountain at midnight. The mountains are the most dangerous places in Honduras, though they don’t seem to have as much gang activity, they have a desperation mentality. A car full of “gringos” looks like money for food to them. But it was important to jeopardize ourselves for the sake of this little one. Jesus said “I tell you the truth, just as you did it for one of the least of these brothers or sisters of mine, you did it for me.” (Matthew 25:40) And oh what a blessing we received.
After an hour and a half of meandering roads, steep slopes, misdirection, and looming fear, we reached our destination. The dangers of the mountain seemed to fade away when we saw the familiar faces of Marvin, Yvonni, and their father. They welcomed us into their small home with hugs and laughter. This was also accompanied by the boys showing us the pila and explaining the accident. Their living conditions were less than inhabitable by our American standards. Questions remain about their father and if prison changed him or if the boys were placed in harms way. But all we can do is show him love, and pray for the boys.
To my surprise, all the boys had packed, ready to head into Tegucigalpa with us. It was way too late, so we didn’t stay long. All six of the brothers, including the oldest who was never lived at Casa de Esparanza, packed our little rental vehicle. Mario and Marvin both piled in on my lap, so I was quite content (even though they are the only two who get car sick). We were on our way back down the dirt roads of the mountain.
The excitement wore down as it was now past one in the morning. We told the boys of the plans to help a man build a new house the next day. I never saw such young children so excited to do manual labor for another. It touched my heart, and made me examine my own intentions a little more closely. It wasn’t until 3:30 AM that we reached Jen’s house.
Somehow the boys still had energy. Marvin slept, or lack there of, between David and I. The next morning came bright and early. Surprisingly, we were up and ready in no time, after about three hours of sleep. We picked up some tools. Jen took Francisco to the doctor. David ran the rest of us to Don Francisco house to start the labor. After a long day of work, we took the boys out to eat for chicken.
The rest of the day consisted of relaxing. We cleaned the dirt off of our tired bodies and took a much needed nap. Then we enjoyed each others company. Pizza Hut was for dinner followed by a movie in Jen’s king size bed. And sleep came easy after that, as our nap didn’t quite replenish all of our energy.
Jen and Francisco didn’t return until late. The poor little guy had broken both bones in his arm. They needed to be re-broken because they began to heal incorrectly, so he was put under by the anesthesiologist. I had made him a sling out of my handkerchief; it fit his tiny little arm perfectly. He sure was a cute little cripple!
The next morning we took our time, as no one was eager to send the brothers off. It had been a special weekend. After an hour and a half of laughter and playing, we arrived at the church at the bottom of the mountain in Comayagua. Their parents were waiting. We waited as long as we could to say good bye, but it was inevitable. Hugs were given, “I love you” filled the dusty air, and we reloaded the suburban but there seemed to be a lot of unwanted space. The ride back was spent in solitude within our own minds. We approached the city, still heavy hearted, and that is when we saw Betty.

The Islands

Last week, we decided to take a road trip and a break from work. So we set our path for Nicaragua. I was excited to enter a new country. However, after talking to a friend of ours, she recommended not attempting to cross the difficult border. For one, it was dangerous, two we would probably get hustled, and we might not even make it over. So we headed the other direction.
Roatan is an island off the coast of Honduras that sits in the Caribbean. So it took a whole lot of coaxing to convince us to head north. We loaded up the car and traveled. It was a nice drive, a little longer than we had expected. But after eight hours we reached the coast. La Cieba was the coastal city that we spent the night in. The only room left was some sort of honeymoon sweet with a Jacuzzi and the works, so we took it. We slept well for the next morning we became island folk.
We took a one hour ferry boat ride across the crystal blue Caribbean to Roatan. Christina, our friend who once lived in Tegucigalpa, picked us up. She works at the Henry Morgan Hotel on the island. She was able to find us a deal for an all inclusive stay at the resort. We lived like kings and queens for twenty-four hours. Meals were all you could eat buffets. The rooms were wonderful including canopies over the beds. And we were right on the blue ocean front.
We lounged on the beach most of the first day. Swimming in the ocean also occupied our time. I loved being able to see my feet skimming across the sand as I swam. We enjoyed the island atmosphere; it was such a diverse culture. Dance parties on the beach at night, crazy English that ended in “mon,” and everybody seeming to coexist on a small piece of land.
We went snorkeling the next morning. I got to see the array of colors that God decorated the ocean floor with. That was about all we had time to do as we were rushed to grab our taxi. And so ended our island get away as we boarded the ferry and headed back. It was a relaxing get away full of God’s beauty and I am thankful to have had the chance.

Nothing Hurts Like a Wounded Heart

The day started off with the easy task of loving the six brothers and driving them to their home in Comayagua. But a day serving God doesn’t always turn out to be simple.
We left for our two hour drive across the mountain on a sunny Sunday afternoon. With twelve of us packed in the car, we laughed, played, and some even slept. Joy filled the car on that two hour drive. We reached Comayagua in good time, dropped the boys off, and said our good-byes. Heavy hearts made for a silent trip back to Tegucigalpa aside form a street boy from whom we bought 68 tortillas.
Silently we reached the city, exhausted from emotion. The traffic thickened as we entered the city along the Suyapa road. We drove along behind an old yellow school bus that now transports Hondurans. Observing these busses has shown me that they cram Hondurans into every crevice inside and some hang out the door. A dangerous ride; no doubt.
Then there she was. For whatever reason, she was unable to stay inside the overly stuffed bus. Her body tumbled from the side door near the rear of the bus. She hit the pavement head first with a ghastly bounce just like a rag doll. After several rolls, she came to a lifeless stop face down on the side of the street. My heart seemed to skip a beat and my stomach dropped. A moment of shock struck the car as we observed the scene. Words filled the dead silence but I didn’t comprehend. Next thing I knew, my body had betrayed my fear frozen mind. My hands opened the door and my feet carried me quickly to what I was sure had to be a corpse. A million different thoughts plagued my simple mind. I remember one of them thanking God that David (the nursing student) was just a head of me. We reached her. A pool of blood accumulated beneath her head. She was young. I was sure she was dead. Just after I thought this, she moved her arm and then a toe. Men from the bus created a crowd of chaos around us. Horns, shouts, and a horrifying moan all pounded my ear drums. The blood continued to pour from her head so David took off his shirt to apply pressure. Unfortunately, the majority of the blood was coming from her mouth and nose. Someone had called an ambulance, but this is Honduras and she could lay there for three hours waiting, bleeding. Her best chance was us. With the help of the surrounding crowd, we lifted her and rushed her to the back seat of the Suburban.
In the car, we tried our best to sustain her, to talk to her and to comfort her. In between horrific moans, she vomited blood in the car. I tried to look into her eyes, but they were franticly searching for help. Help that I could not give her. So I prayed. I prayed for her comfort. I noticed the road rash that covered her body and her right shoulder was broken or separated.
We arrived at the Hospital Escuela and it was flooded with people. David and I lifted the girl out of the car and onto a cold, hard, metal gurney. Despite the crowd, we were able to wheel her directly in to the emergency room. Standing by her side praying over her life, security asked us all but one to leave.
The next block of time was spent trying to figure out who she was, since she was in no shape to respond to us. A search for family and friends began. All she had was a beat up bag of clothes and a cell phone with no minutes. Sam, Ashley, and I crossed the street and bought some minutes for the phone. Immediately upon our return, Gina began to make phone calls. I thank God Gina (our Honduran friend who speaks perfect English and Spanish) was with us.
We discovered her name was Betty. She was born and raised in a poor family in Choluteca where her parents still lived. She had moved to Tegucigalpa to work for a family here. She was only seventeen years old. Her brother had done the same and was told of his sister’s condition. She also had a sister that did not live far off. She also made her way in hope that the undefined girl was not her sister.
Now came the waiting. The emotions of the day finally caught up to me. I sat down on the cold, dirty tile floor of the supposed waiting room. Back to the wall, face in my hands, I did all I could to hold back the tears of emotion that wanted to stream down my cheeks. The distraught faces of the emergency room seemed to mirror the hurt I felt. My heart bled for those faces just as it did for Betty. Little bits of news about Betty’s family and friends fluttered among us. One lady told Gina to be careful because Betty was a thief. I didn’t care. I loved and prayed for her just the same. A panicked boy in a yellow polo shirt with a haunting face burst through the door to the emergency room.
It was her brother. He had arrived and confirmed the identity of Betty. Her sister arrived with a man and some children not too far behind him. It was a relief to know that Betty was now surrounded by some familiar faces in her time of need. I couldn’t imagine the feeling of solidarity that must exist in such a state of pain surrounded by only strangers. It was now in God’s hands. We could do no more. We left the hospital weary yet hopeful.
The weak hospital system of Honduras turned out to be no match for the internal bleeding Betty had suffered. Gina caught word the next day that Betty had passed away around one in the morning. It felt like failure. Saying that we did all we could is hardly helpful. All the effort we put forth was void when she died. So all that is left is to pray that God generates good out of the tragedy. Please pray for Betty’s family.

Kisses in the Morning; Cuddles at Night

There are few things more precious than the touch of a child. I have the joy of experiencing that in many ways on my journey in Honduras. A simple hug, or a kiss on the cheek, whichever it is, has the ability to melt a heart. Being down here at Casa de Esparanza has given me plenty of heart melting opportunities. I’m uncertain, now, if my heart hasn’t quite turned to total mush.
This past week I have been staying in Ashley’s room while she sleeps with the kids. The room is divided by ¾ a wall. Thus, I have the pleasure of listening to the girls as they sleep, or whisper, cough, and giggle. But they have come to figure out that I am sleeping in the room next door. (I may or may not occasionally harass them from the next room over.) A few nights ago I heard Katty start to cry, while I was reading in bed. The next thing I knew she was in my bed with a burning fever. Ashley had brought her in and asked me to hold her. Her warm fevered arms immediately clung to my neck. She had tears streaming down her face from the sickness that had overtaken her. I put my arm around her and held her tight, doing my best to comfort her pain. Ashley came back in to take her, but she preferred cuddling. So, Katty and I snuggled up and after a few whispers and giggles we both drifted off. I truly felt blessed to hold and comfort one of God’s littlest.
Just this morning I was startled awake when something warm and wet touched my cheek. I opened my eyes, the room was still a bit hazy but I saw a three foot something little girl huddling over me. “Papi,” she said with a big grin after she had kissed my face. I couldn’t stop the muscles in my face from returning the gesture. “Buenos Dias, Bonita,” (Good morning, beautiful)” I said through my smile. She ran off to finish her morning activities. I rolled back over unable to relax the smile that had made its home on my face. It’s so simple to see why Jesus had such a special place in his heart for children.

The Park

Last week, we took the kids to the park for a picnic. The sun was shining and the weather was beautiful. We packed up and then gathered the children, no easy task. The walk to the park was short but refreshing and the faces of the kids beamed when we arrived. After our lunch, we played for a couple of hours. It was good to get off the property for some fun.

Troubled Faces and Heavy Hearts

Last Friday was the final Friday of the month. And the kids knew that meant visitation day. Some were silent in sorrow for they knew they would not be seeing their parents. Fito, Pamela, and Daniela are not allowed to be seen by their mother because of the unspeakable pain she put them through. But, most displayed excitement on their faces. After breakfast, the children put on their nicest clothing. Bryan and Fito dressed in their black slacks and white button down shirts. With much enthusiasm, they asked me to help with their clip on ties. We opened the hair gel and they had me fix their hair, which was no easy task. I did it over and over again until it looked just right,by their standards of course. All eighteen of us loaded up the white Ford van and headed toward the State Orphanage. With a few delays, three vomiting children, one happening to be on me, we pulled into the State Orphanage in the city. Waiting at the gate was Cindy and Maryuri’s mother. She was a young twenty year old Honduran who became much older with the birth of her now 6 year old daughter. The world had aged her, making her look much older than twenty. But she came to see the children she had birthed but could no longer afford to care for. She treated them with love, bringing them treats and playing games the entire two hours of the visit. She was the only mother to show up. Still hope lingered for the other children, never giving up on the parents who seemed to give up on them.
They became onlookers to the love between the one mother and her children. Bryan sat on the steps, his head resting in his hands. He was probably the most excited to see his mother that day. It pained me to see him distraught as he was. The steps quickly filled with the other children watching what fun kids can have with their parents. Some tried to join the games; others just wore their emotions on their sad faces.
Cindy and Maryuri finished a game of tag with their mother in the small pavilion. Soon after they left, I became the Papi. Daniela wanted to play the same game. She laughed like she hadn’t a care in the world. I tried to fill in some shoes that I wasn’t sure would fit me. Simple games filled these troubled faces with joy. We substituted in as father and mother figures where they were absent. To comfort these heavy hearts was to be comforted. God used us when the kids needed us most.

Where there is doubt, have faith

Fear, doubt, nervousness, anxiety, regret, uncertainty…. All these emotions stirred in my heart, mind, and stomach as I attempted to ready myself to begin life in Honduras. Questions claimed my thoughts. What was I thinking, committing two months to a foreign country? Do I really think I can handle this? Do I belong down there? Can this really be what God has planned for me? To increase the worry that consumed me, Casa de Esperanza had so many unanswered questions of there own.
Rainy days rarely provide redeeming moments. The day we landed in San Pedro Sula was gloomy and the rain fell heavy on my doubts. I wanted to be alone with my thoughts, let them meander around in my mind for a few hours. I was almost looking forward to the solitude in my head on the 5 hour bus ride to Santa Ana. To my dismay, I learned we were staying at a hotel in San Pedro Sula. My hopes fell. I wanted to be somewhere familiar and refrain from feeling this way.
But, God has a funny way of dealing with the doubter. His love is going to see us through whatever it is that we think we need to be hung up on.
Jesus never gave up on the most skeptical of all doubters. Thomas said “Unless I see the wounds from the nails in his hands, and put my finger into the wounds from the nails, and put my hand into his side, I will never believe it!” In his disbelief, Jesus came to Thomas through a wall, and because that was not enough Jesus said “Touch me, feel my side, believe.”
Christ lifted my doubts in the same way when walked into that little hotel room in San Pedro Sula. The five brothers stood there with smiles from ear to ear. (The five brothers just recently left the orphanage, but I spent time with them in March) I heard Jesus, “touch me, believe this is where I want you,” as I bent down and wrapped my arms around Marvin and he eagerly shouted “Mike.”
“Where there is doubt; faith.” Saint Francis of Assisi once said. When in doubt, have faith in Christ.
Things were finally starting to feel right, even after Marvin vomited out the window and into my face. Unfortunately, we had to leave the boys and head to Santa Ana. The car had a hallow sadness looming inside as we watched the boys get smaller from the back window.
Soon the Father comforted me yet again. Touch me again. Have no doubt. I am with you. Believe.
“Papi,” I hear a sweet familiar voice and it melts my heart. I see my baby girl, Daniela, running, beautiful brown skin shining in the sunlight, big brown eyes full of joy, and her dark hair waving behind her as she approached. She was just as gorgeous and precious as I remembered. To embrace her was to know that I had made the right decision. I have faith that God will use me among these children in the months to come.