Simply Serving... Serving Simply

I knew this trip would be different than my previous adventures to Honduras.  But, I became frustrated with the way thing were moving.  I wanted to serve God.  I wanted to see evidence that I was representing his glory.  My desire was to simply serve Christ.

            Since I had a preconceived conception of what serving God looked like, I remained frustrated for a time.  I wanted to leave a lasting impact on this country.  I envisioned houses being built for the homeless.  The hungry fed.  Lives changed.  I was only putting things into a big picture.  God taught me, even through my stubbornness, that I was here to simply serve but in the form of serving simply. 

            Serving simply means laying down what I believe is serving God and just doing.  Simple tasks can edify the God we love when done in his name.  I learned to glorify God in simply living life with Carlos, Eduardo, and Saul.  It’s a joy to God and I both to just sit in the room and talk with Carlos about anything or to play soccer in the garage with Saul.  I have found that I serve God in just being around them.  I have felt blessed to influence their lives.  When before, I looked at it as a chore to take care of them.

            There are many other simple acts of service that I have learned to dedicate to God.  I am serving even when I just offer a knee for a child to sit on to do homework.  Serving simply is opening a door for a Honduran with his hands full, grabbing a hand of a child, or visiting with those who see little love.  A ride from the top to the bottom of El Hatilo (a mountain in Honduras) for some hitchhiking kids is a delight to the Lord.    It’s about doing simple things for God’s children.

            I came to this country simply to serve but God has taught me to use the gift of being in Honduras to serve simply with every opportunity.

 

“Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God’s grace in its various forms.”

-1 Peter 4:10-

Another Crazy Day…. Under control

We loaded the car around 9:30; Ashley, Colby, Sam and I.  Our destination was the airport.  We arrived and went through the check-in procedures with Colby as Sam went to Dunkin Donuts.  I knew it was already going to be a rough day as Ashley and Colby are so close.  We all said out good-byes as Colby meandered to the security checkpoint.  Hungry, tired, and grieving a little, we headed back to the truck.  At this point, we were just looking forward to a Church’s Pancho sandwich.  (At least, I know I was).  Mmmm, I could already taste the savory chicken with the crisp tortillas as we pulled out of the airport parking lot.  Then the day got crazy.

I saw a motorcycle rapidly approaching the rear driver’s side door.  I thought there is no way he is going to live through this.  I saw his motorcycle start to wobble from an attempt to break and swerve.  Finally, both motorcycle and driver slid across the hot asphalt.  I heard the eerie sound of metal and plastic skidding across blacktop.  I was fearful for what happened to the driver until I saw him stand and throw his hands up.  Sam continued in to Church’s.  I had suddenly lost my appetite.  Both a box truck and an angry taxi informed us that we needed to return to the scene of the accident because we were at fault.  I told Sam forget the food lets go back.

 We returned to chaos.  At first, I didn’t see a motorcycle or a driver and I thought thank the Lord we are off the hook.  But for some reason, the screams continued.  “You shouldn’t be allowed to drive in this country.”  “The police are on their way.”  Panic stuck me.  We are screwed.  The police do not have the best reputation in Honduras, especially among gringos (slang for white foreigners).  I figured it was time to turn to my Savior to rescue me yet again.  I prayed as the police arrived and the driver reappeared with his bike and a trail of blood streaming from his right leg.  I asked God to deliver us from this frightening situation.  As I leaned on the bed of the truck, hands folded, head bowed in reverence, I felt a calm drift over the situation.  I prayed for Ashley’s Spanish, because I knew mine would be of no help here.  By God’s grace, the two policemen that showed up were helpful.  They handled the situation very well.  And to top it all off ,the man, who I later found out was Manuel, was as kind as anyone with a broken leg that gushed blood could be.  Finally, we were able to leave the scene and take Manuel to the hospital.  And of course, God stepped in again.  Doctor Larios, a bone specialist, happens to be a close friend.  That day God had made him available.  He is such a kind man that he did his work for free, cutting the hospital bill in half.  The extent of Manuel’s injuries included two hairline fractures in his ankle and a deep cut requiring four stitches.  Though he lost a lot of blood, the injuries were quite minor.  And if God wasn’t good enough he allowed us to spend the day with Manuel.

            Manuel was about 30 with two kids.  He had lived in the states near San Francisco for eight years.  Fortunately I had been, so it gave us conversation during our 6 or so hours at the hospital.  I also learned that he bought buses from Lima, Ohio and had been there, not far from me.  He runs his own business of renting buses out; perfect for a missions team, and his prices were quite reasonable.  I think God might have been showing off a little at this point.  But, I thank him all the more for showing how much he really does love me.

In our most fragile moments, the Father cradles us in his all encompassing arms.

Control is never ours, anyway.