1 Week

1 week.

That's what's left.

After this being my home for a year, all I have is one week.

The time has flown by since I got back here in June.  My cousin, Amanda, stayed for almost three amazing weeks.  I cannot describe how much of a joy and blessing it was to me to be able to have her here.  Besides great quality-girl-talk time and a few late night baking sessions and several intense basketball games, she kept busy with getting to know the kids at the Children's Center and helping me out at W-Ragar Bilingual School and even singing with us for worship one evening at church.  When she left, quite a few kids asked me where my "prima" was and when she was coming back.  She made a good impression, I'd say.  

Since I've been back, I have begun helping out two days a week at El Camino Kinder, a bilingual kindergarten and future grade school that just started up this school year.  Things like the adorable little white and navy blue uniforms and the 5-year-old energy level and beyond cute tiny Spanish-English accents make me love working there.

It is fun and at the same time difficult to try to figure out each of the kid's individual learning styles and motivators.  You can't handle two different kids the same way.  It just doesn't work.  One of the boys, Aron, is very smart and because of that sometimes has problems staying focused and applying himself while he has to wait for the others to catch up.  He can get a bit ornery.  All you have to do to get him interested again is to give him a competition and he's as good as gold.  "Alright, Aron, let's see if you guys can stand in line better than everyone else."  And suddenly, his little hands shoot straight down to his side and he stands up tall and he's ready to go.

About four weeks ago, I moved from staff housing (where I've been staying all year) into a small house beside the Children's Center.  Kara, another intern, was kind enough to let me come live with her after I got semi-kicked out of staff housing.  I was asked to move out as a big favor because of a sudden need for a room, but honestly, I had already been secretly scheming to come live here but just couldn't figure out how.  Apparently, and per usual, God had a great plan.

I'm living in this little house.


 The one on the left.  The pila is the square cement pool-looking thing in the front.


 It's just to the right of this big house, the Children's Center.


Probably partly because of my personality, I absolutely love living here, right in the middle of everything and everyone.  It seems perfectly fabulous to me to be able to play keep away with the kids in the afternoons and buy topos (popsicles in sandwich bags) whenever I feel a craving; or sit talking on the porch with my friends until it's dark and then move to the pila so we won't disturb Kara; or have one of the kids knock on my front door asking if I want to learn how to make tortillas, because the cook is about to make 80 and I can come help if I'd like; or decide to walk to the beach with some kids because it's hot and we want coconuts.

Last week, Kara and I cooked together for the kids and crew of the Loma de Luz Missionary Kid (MK) Camp.  Cooking for 50 people is a full-time, tiring job.  From 6 to 6, we made food.  My hands are a little beat up now and my feet are a bit sore, but I have to say, I actually really enjoyed working in the kitchen.  It was great being able to get to know some of the missionary kids from around Honduras just because I made their dinner.

I did get to participate in the camp, too.  I wasn't going to have to, because being a member of one of the competing teams means memorizing quite a bit of scripture each day and a quizzing competition every evening to earn points for your team, and I wasn't supposed to have time for all of that.  But after having several kids come in the kitchen to ask for help with memorizing their verses, I couldn't help myself.  "PUT ME ON A TEAM," I said.  Memorizing, competition?  Right up my alley.  I have to admit, I did get pretty into the whole competition, and I'm glad my team won. *go Blue!*

But overall, it was great to have a week to spend with the missionary kids and interns.  The last evening, two of the MK girls and I took pillows and blankets outside to lay on the patio outside of staff housing and look at the stars.  They were so clear, the clearest I've seen in a long time, with an arm of the Milky Way visible and sparkling.  A huge and glittery shooting star, probably three times as big as the brightest star, shot clear across the sky.  We could hear the waves crashing down the hill on the beach and thousands of chirping tree frogs and cicadas and it was so beautiful.

I'm trying to start thinking about leaving in two weeks and trying to prepare myself.  But it's so hard imagining life without all of these people around me, people who I've grown to love dearly...the missionaries, their kids, the Honduran children, the teachers at the bilingual school, the workers at the Children's Center...

There's a part of me that would just like to sit down and cry about leaving, and then figure out a grand scheme to keep me from it.  Not that I don't miss home, especially all my lovely family, but the hope of seeing my other home again seems more real.  I haven't ever felt like I wouldn't go back to the States.

Leaving here is so much more unsure.  I don't know what God has for me after this.  I really don't know if I'll be able to come back and visit soon, if at all.  And if I can and do, there's no guarantee that anyone who is here right now will be here then.  I'll never come back to the same Honduras, that much IS sure.  That's what makes leaving here so hard.

I feel like my never ending lesson is to learn to trust in my Father.  He led me to come here for a season, and for that I am so incredibly thankful.  And yet now I know he's telling me to leave, even if it hurts.  I just want to trust in his love for me, let myself sink into it and be pushed along by it, no matter where he's asking me to go or what he wants me to do.  I was struggling with leaving and trusting a few nights ago and was reading in 1 Corinthians about lots of good things about grace and freedom and everything wonderful that didn't seem to be helping me.  But I "happened" across 1 Corinthians 2:9, that says, "However, as it is written: 'No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him.'"  My only peace in leaving comes from that - that I know that God sees all and knows all and is in control of everything, and that if I let him, he'll lead me through a life of serving him that will in the end be more beautiful and worth it than I could ever imagine right now.  

Please be praying for me during this last week or so.  There are so many people to say goodbye to and it's hard to know how to spend my time.  It's short, that's for sure. 

See everyone in ten days!

¡Bienvenida!

It's time to post again.  So much has happened since I last wrote.

May 11 I went back to the States for a three week visit.  John, Penny, and Eryn Alden all woke up to take me at 3:30 in the morning to La Ceiba to the bus station.  Eryn and I rode in the back of the truck.  A ride under the bright Honduran stars and through the cool night breeze was a perfect way to say goodbye, to Honduras for a little while and to Eryn for a long while.

She left Honduras about a week ago, while I was gone, to go back and live in the States.  I'm going to miss all of her craziness that keeps me young during the week.  I didn't realize when I first started teaching her how much she would teach me.  But she has, about amazing things like compassion and generosity.  She's a beautiful, special girl.  Of course, we made sure to get some last-minute pictures together in the back of the truck.  (In case you were wondering, it takes talent to perfectly time your picture taking so that you don't get jolted by all the potholes and come out with blurry pictures.  I think we did alright...:) )

 We took a few nice photos....

And of course a "duck face" picture...Eryn put a new twist on that, haha.

I had a great time at home...helped with a wedding, went to my church's Young Adults Retreat, spent good time with my family, caught up with friends, tried not to get used to the cool weather...

But three weeks go by really fast, and I'm back sitting in a hammock in staff housing (recently nicknamed "The Bungalow"), chugging water and dripping sweat and loving it.

My cousin, Amanda, is here to stay with me.  I don't normally write this in the middle of a blog post because I think it looks a little unprofessional or cheesy or something, but my excitement level calls for it... *happy dance!!*  Two whole weeks plus a few days with this girl?  Yes!  She's going to help me with teaching and hopefully have a grand time.

We arrived back here in La Quinta at the hospital just in time to go to the missionary Fellowship and see everyone.  When I walked into the cabildo, they were still singing, but I sneaked up behind Dania and poked her and got a giant grin and hug from her.  As hard as leaving either home is, I love the "You're back!" hugs, which are more like tackles.  They're special, and I made sure to get one from everyone.  "Hannah Mae!  Bienvenida!"

Yesterday evening, Amanda and I went with the Pirkle family to Rosy's, a "restaurant" in Rio Esteban.  As we drove through the streets, I kept seeing teachers and students from the bilingual school and I realized how much I miss the being there.  Dealing with cultural differences in teaching styles and expectations and the kids' behavior at the school and trying to assimilate them tires me out some days, and after three months of teaching I was feeling a bit overextended and drained.  But it's good sometimes to get away from something so that you can forget the stress of it and remember your love for it and the purpose in it.  I almost cannot wait to show Amanda the school and introduce her to my students and give them a chance to practice English more and give them hugs.  If you think about it, would you pray that I would use my last two months there well, that I would forget myself and "success" and focus instead on following the Holy Spirit's leading?

Let me just say *again* how excited I am that Amanda's here!  I'll make sure and write all about my time with her later.

Happy Sunday, everyone!

 Amanda and Sarah sitting on the pila at the Children's Center.

 Meet Antonio, one of the five new siblings at the CC.

 Maria, swinging on la llanta.

 The last of a sunset over the water in Rio Esteban.

 Dinner at Rosy's...clockwise starting with the cracker-looking stuff I had casabe, rice and beans, ceviche, tajadas, and lobster.

Amanda and I's fan setup in our room.

Hydrate

My head hurts.  It's really mostly my fault.  I should know by now that drinking when you're thirsty just doesn't cut it when it's hot and humid.  By then, it's too late.  Also, taking a run in the mid-day heat today wasn't super smart.

I've been really busy recently.  Also my fault, but this one I'm not upset about.  I don't have many hours when I'm doing nothing.  After I finish teaching around 1pm, I usually head home to clean a little, shower, eat, do responsible things.

I walk down the road to the Children's Center to hang out almost every afternoon.  Around 4pm, it's like the entire world wakes up and congregates around the pila (the water spicket/wash area that is on a cement platform in the middle of the Children's Center buildings) - Nahun aka Nunca, Rucco, Morro, Dania, and Clari from one family and Aleli, Alberto, Fernando, and Dago from across the street; Jeison, Darwing, Andrea, and Cindy, the older kids from the Children's Center; Hannah, Sarah, Rebekah, Sydney, and Mariah, the MK's; and Julia, Estelle, and Kara, the other interns.

The little kids - Felix, Roni, Maria, Juancito, Merelin, Britany, and Genesis - have just woken up from their naps and come tottering out and ask me to swing them on the llanta (the tire swing).  Usually I promise them ten swings each.  "Vengase corriendo!"  They want me to give them a giant push and run under the swing.  Roni always wants me to pick him up, and when he clings to me he says that he's like a little spider.  Yes, yes, he is.

We talk and eat topos (popsicles in sandwich bags that you can buy for one Lempira, which is about 20 cents) and generally end up sitting beside the campo (soccer field) while the guys play ball.  I'm not sure why we sit right behind the goal.  Usually we're all pretty good about dodging the ball, but last week I had turned my head to talk to someone and looked back towards the goal just as Fernando shot the ball straight into the goal and onto my head.  This boy has a powerful kick.  I now know how it feels to have your ears ring.  That was the same afternoon they broke the window of Donya Delia's house…she's the lady who sells topos.  Mr. Iain, the man who runs the Center with his wife, told everyone they couldn't play soccer again until the window was fixed.  They made sure to get it fixed early the next day.

At least once a week, we weave through the palm trees in the field behind the Children's Center and head to the beach.  Everyone leaves their flip flops and bags and the guys, their t-shirts, beside a giant tree in the sand and jumps into the water.  It's always warm, and the waves are small and gentle.  Sometimes, a school of little fish passes through the water, jumping into our faces and clothes.  The little kids use my arms as floaties, Jeison grabs my feet and flips me upside down, Nunca shows me how to throw water into the air and swat it at someone, Fernando asks me how to say "moustache" in English because he wants to call me that but I tell him the word is "impeccable," Andrea throws mud from the sea on my head, and Sarah starts a game of keepaway with her Georgia Bulldogs football.

I've been having a blast.

But I sometimes forget to drink water, and, like today, I get a headache.  It's a very special kind of headache, very acute and unique.  All I can do is take two ibuprofen and start drinking and wait for my head to stop hurting.

I think I just don't feel the need to drink most of the time, so I forget about drinking until it hurts.

I think I do this with God, too.  When I feel fine, I forget about how much I need God.  Until it hurts.

But I want to delight in the law of the Lord and meditate on it day and night, like David talks about in Psalm 1.  I want to be "like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither."  Really, like I crave a cold glass of clean water after walking a mile to church on Sunday mornings in the thick air and under a hot sun, that's how my soul thirsts for God.  That's how I really need him, even if I don't always remember.

I'm thankful he loves me.  That's incredible.  "As for you, O Lord, you will not restrain your mercy from me; your steadfast love and your faithfulness will ever preserve me."  Psalms 40:11

Love Better than Life

Every now and then, I go through a time when I remember how faithless and fickle I am. It scares me. When I realize how I am "continually straying like sheep" (1 Peter 2:25), when I start to get a taste of walking through a dark place without holding my Father's hand.  When my independence rears its head and stares me in the face, I tremble.

Ask my Dad, he'll tell you that one of my favorite things to say as a little child was, "I do it myelf." Even now, I still say that, just in a slightly more intelligent-sounding way: "I got it." (...Isn't that grammatically incorrect? Shouldn't it be, "I have it"? Whatever. Not the point.)

The problem is, I don't "have it." Another problem: I don't realize that I don't.

Thankfully, God does.

It amazes me that God loves me enough to bring me back to Him when I wander. His love for us, His children, is so strong and true that even when we begin to walk away, search for joy in other things, put on the mindset that we can get along just fine without him, He searches us out and brings us back. Wow.

There is a Chris Rice song called "Prone to Wander." Apparently. I haven't heard it, and I can't find it on the internet so I can't listen to it. But I found the lyrics, and they are beautiful.

"On the surface not a ripple,
Undercurrent wages war.
Quiet in the sanctuary,
Sin is crouching at my door.

How can I be so prone to wander,
So prone to leave You,
So prone to die.
And how can You be so full of mercy,
You race to meet me and bring me back to life.

I wake to find my soul in fragments,
Given to a thousand loves.
But only One will have no rival,
Hangs to heal me, spills His blood.

Curse-reversing Day of Jesus,
When You finally seize my soul.
Freedom from myself will be the
Sweetest rest I've ever known.

How can I be so prone to wander,
So prone to leave You,
So prone to die.
And how can You be so full of mercy,
You race to meet me and bring me back to life."
~Chris Brown

I am branded with the sign of my Lord, and I treasure that mark, the mark of Love. The mark of mercy, of the sacrifice of the Lamb, of a royal priesthood, of a holy nation.

"Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is as strong as death, jealousy as fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the Lord. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it." Song of Solomon 8:6-7

"But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy." 1 Peter 2:9-10

His love is strong. It is passionate and fierce, and nothing will quench it. Not even my sin. For His glory and because of His love, he has made us into a people, His people. This is amazing.

"Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you. So I will bless you as long as I live; in your name I will lift up my hands." Psalm 63:3-4

Sore Throat

Last year, Deslinn, another teacher at W-Ragar, told me that she used to have a pretty singing voice but because of teaching she can't sing as well anymore. I wondered what it would be like to have to yell that loudly in class.

This week, I learned. I resolved at the start of this school year that yelling would not happen in my classrooms. I would be firm and loving and energetic and everything a good teacher should be, and the kids would listen and smile and laugh and learn everything a good student should. Obviously, I knew it would take time for me and them to adjust, but we'd all come around eventually.

I didn't realize my voice would give out before we did.

On Tuesday, while teaching 5th and 6th grade English, I told the kids that they had to be quiet and sit in their seats because I was teaching them new words and I couldn't shout anymore. I just couldn't. They quieted down a bit, long enough for them to learn a little something and for me to ask God for patience.

"Tee-chair." That's what they call me, with a little roll on the "r." It's cute, I just wish they wouldn't say it so loudly sometimes. "TEE-CHAIRRR!" Oh. Not right in my ear.

The problem with quinto y sexto is not totally that the kids are disobedient and disrespectful. Every kid can be those things, sometimes. But they just make so much noise, and then forget to listen to the teacher. "Prestame tu lápiz? (Lend me your pencil?) Quién tiene mi cuaderno? (Who has my notebook?) Dejame. (Leave me alone.) Sabe la respuesta? (Do you know the answer?) Cómo se escribe 'ropa' en inglés? (How do you write 'clothes' in English?)" That's the noise. All 15 of them, chattering at once. Why are you out of your chair? I ask. "I need to sharpen my pencil." Okay, he has a good reason, but he's just another little person walking around and asking questions and distracting the others.

I find myself wishing I had taken a TEFL course or something. I can start getting frustrated with myself and the school and the curriculum and everything. Often I find myself asking, "God, WHY ME." The books that the kids are using are far above their level of understanding, so I have been making up my own lessons to try and get them a little caught up in the simpler things. If I try and use the book, it usually ends up in more chaos and confusion and noise -- eight different kids shouting at once, "Tee-chair, vení! I have a question!"

One parent asked me if we were planning on using the book or if her daughter was just skipping the homework, because her book was empty. Nope, I'm just not using it. I could tell from the mother's face that she was going to ask if I was wasting the 400 lempiras she spent on MegaFlash, so I explained that we will use it after I teach a few basics. She seemed okay with that.

The reality is, there are a LOT of basics that we would need to go over before the kids would really understand their book. I keep thinking that I can just skip the harder things, but as I flip through MegaFlash, I realize that everything is a "harder thing" for them. Frustration.

But they're learning. Yesterday, Emanuel finished writing his 10 frases before some of the others had even started. Oh, actually, he wrote 30. Good kid. Then he asked me to "reviselo." I got out my red pen and checked all 30 sentences. Then I scribbled my name at the top of the paper, underlined it, and drew a quick star. "Dame cinco puntos!" Okay. 5 points for you. How you grade their work is very important to the children.

The rest of the kids, even the slower ones, all finished up and got their five points. It took some prodding and quieting and explaining, but they finished, and they're learning. This time at the end of class, everyone got a confite. As soon as I stood by the door and got out the bag, they all rushed over. Hagan fila! They made the best line they could and one by one I gave them a piece of candy.

----

It's 8:10pm and it's windy and pouring rain and almost chilly enough for me to wear my hoodie. I think I will.

----

One of my students, Marcos, got bored in class because he finished his work first, so he started writing sentences of his own. The first one made me laugh.

Here's my prayer: that God would use me in those kids lives to show his love to them. I sometimes wonder how me telling them twenty times to sit down and finish writing their sentences will give them any sort of idea of God's love. But I know He put me here. I know He's with me. I know He will work through me. I know He loves me. I know He loves them.

"I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing...As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you. Abide in my love." John 15:5, 9

Just Some Pictures

Here are a few pictures of some of the things I've been doing in the past two weeks.

Going to the beach, spending time with some awesome kids...

 I went to the beach with Daña (on the left) and Samely one afternoon.  After we played in the water they wanted to take pictures together.  Gotta love these two girls. :)

Teaching at W-RAGAR Bilingual School

 My 7th grade class minus one.  Joni, Fredy, Deyner, Jordy, Carlos, Jasmin, and Daneli.  These kids are great.  If you can't tell from the picture, they are quite the characters. :)

 And here are Joni, Fredy, Derick (my other student), and Jordy.  Crazzzzy guys. :)

Visiting the Dump in La Ceiba with Lisa Bradley...

One of the things I get to do is bandage up the kids' cuts and scrapes.  I love it.

Lisa teaching the kids a lesson about how Jesus cleans our hearts.  The kids sometimes have trouble sitting still (what kid doesn't?), but they love to listen.

Krystle (another intern who is here) blowing bubbles with the kids.

Miss Lisa and Carlos, a boy who is staying with her for a while.

Soy Profesora

Lesson planning has gotten boring already.  I've only been working on it for about an hour this morning, but I'm ready for a break.

Having a lesson planned before you teach a class is quite helpful, though.

Going into my first day of teaching at W-Ragar, I really didn't have much of an idea of what I was going to do.  I had written out a list of vocabulary words and common verbs that I thought the kids should know and from there on out I just winged it.

I have eight students in 7th grade, six boys and two girls.  I'll try and get a class picture up for you guys.

These kids are so funny.  They all want to know how many siblings I have ("Seven?!" *jaw drop*), what my parents' names are, who my boyfriend is (when I tell them I don't have one, they start making up names..."Mike, then!"), how old I am (I've told them 70, 10, 28, and 100, so at this point it's all up in the air).

All of them speak English fairly well, except for two who really don't speak much at all.  I think of all things, the biggest struggle this year for me will be trying to keep the kids learning and moving ahead without losing anyone.  Especially one kid, Eduardo.  He speaks the least English, and I hate when I see his face drop because he has no clue what's going on.  Having to speak in English and then translate to Spanish helps me practice, at least.

From 7-9:00am and then from 11:40-12:40pm I'm with 7th grade.  Between those two class times, from 9:20-11:20, I teach English to the 5th and 6th graders.  This class is about 15 students and definitely more difficult than 7th grade.  Trying to split the time between 5th and 6th and keep everyone busy so they don't start fighting and playing around is tricky sometimes.  They are learning and mostly working hard, though, so hopefully I'll get better at handling the time and they'll get better at focusing.

Of course, there's the occasional interruption...  Last class, the kids were sitting at their tables doing book work when one of the 6th graders, Fernando, yelled and jumped up.  He started running towards the door and then pointing under the tables.  At first, none of the other kids knew what was happening, but some of the girls started screaming and the boys stood on their chairs.  Apparently, a bright green and blue lizard had crawled into the classroom to try and find some shade.  It ran over Mauricio's feet and under Eva's chair and by then everyone was trying to run from it or kill it.  The poor little guy lost his tail to someone's foot, but he made it back out of the door alive at least, though that was only because I told the boys not to smack it with the broom.

------

The lessons are planned, it's 7:40pm, and I'm already ready for bed.  I've got to get up early in the morning to catch the school bus at 6:15.  Okay, so I know early is subjective, but it's temprano for me.  This whole 5:00am thing has turned me into an 80-year-old woman.  I start getting tired around 6pm these days.  Haha!

One thing I was thinking about this evening and would appreciate prayer for is my witness to the kids.  Thursday, I was chatting with my two girls and said "estupido" (stupid).  Apparently that's considered a bad word around here?  The girls both stopped talking and looked at me.  Then they wanted to know if I was a Christian.  When I said yes, they asked why I had said a bad word.  Still don't quite understand what sort of connotations "stupid" has, but I guess I'll stay away from that.  It just made me think about how much the kids are watching me and learning from me as a person who they look up to, not just as a language teacher.  The church here is very legalistic for the most part, and I don't want to convey that sort of "Christianity" to them, but at the same time, I want to become all things to all people.

Taking the bus home

Where You Lead, I Will Follow

THE BILINGUAL SCHOOL
I love the theme song for the TV show Gilmore Girls.  I don't understand exactly what it has to do with the show itself except for the fact that it's all warm and lovey, but I like the words: "Where you lead, I will follow, anywhere that you tell me to.  If you need, you need me to be with you, I will follow where you lead."

Next Monday, the 13th, the bilingual school starts its new year.  W-Ragar has added 7th grade now, and I am the English teacher.  Every now and then, I wonder what I have gotten myself into, and I would really appreciate your prayers.  Originally, another intern and I were co-teaching the class - she would teach three days, I would take two - and the director of the school told me that she would give me a textbook to use.

A week before school was supposed to start, I met up with the director to make sure I knew what she was expecting of me.  I found out.  Basically, it goes like this: I teach English, and the kids will hopefully learn something.  Besides wanting Reading and Language to be the two basic categories for my class, she didn't have any other specifications.  Not gonna lie, hearing this wracked my nerves a bit.  I'm pretty sure that I am not prepared to take on planning and teaching a class of 12 or so energetic and sometimes less-than-obedient 13-year-olds.  She did tell me about a great bookstore in La Ceiba where I could look for a textbook, though.

I went to La Ceiba and found the bookstore, BookMaster.  I actually enjoyed myself there.  Something about the first grade math charts and "#1 Teacher!" ribbons got me excited about teaching, and I started to think that maybe it wouldn't be so bad after all being completely in charge of my class.

I chose Learning Journeys as the textbook.  I think the title of the book is quite appropriate.

During a Bible study last week, one of my friends was talking about trusting the Lord.  She mentioned the quote about how we can be most at peace, no matter what is going on around us, when we are in the center of God's will.  I know this is such a fundamental idea and something I should know by now, but it just struck me in a new way.  If I am listening to the Lord and going where he's asking me to go, then I don't need to fear.   He wants me here, doing this "scary" thing, for a reason.  I don't know yet what exactly that might be, but I do know two things: God works for the good of those who love him and have been called according to his purpose (Romans 8:28), and he planned whatever this is for his glory (Isaiah 43:7).  WHY AM I NERVOUS?  He'll be with me (duh), he'll help me (duh), it'll be hard sometimes (duh), and it'll all turn out for the very best (duh).  So, this is my outlook on the new school year, at least when I remember to think this way.

Ha, a week ago when I had this little "epiphany," my first thought was, "Um, God, don't you think you could've waited for me to realize this until I was actually on the bus on the way to school or something?  By the time next week rolls around, I'm going to have forgotten this already."  I think maybe God is teaching me about trust... God, I'm ready to start on this new learning journey.  Where you lead, I will follow.

THE DUMP
On Tuesday, I went with Lisa, a wonderful missionary lady, to the Dump in La Ceiba (La Ceiba is the city an hour from the hospital where all the missionaries do their shopping).  I don't know if I've blogged about the Dump before, but just in case... Around the La Ceiba dump, hundreds of people have made their homes.  Many little shacks and a few sturdier cement houses line the dirt road that winds up from the main road to the trash heap.  Lisa has a ministry at the Dump of building friendships with families and the little children, helping when she can with small medical problems like infected scrapes and runny noses, taking the really sick to better-equipped people, teaching the children, loving however she can.  She visits every Tuesday and Saturday.

This Tuesday, we went to visit Milagro (Spanish for "miracle"), a one-month-old baby girl with hydrocephalus.  She and her family live on the side of a steep, muddy slope.  We walked up a ladder-like set of metal stairs that someone had laid against the hill, under a few clothes lines, and past a mangy dog or three.  Along the way, Lisa says hello to every little child that she sees.  We have to stop to rest a few times because Lisa was carrying Mateo, a cute little kid who is quite the chunker monker.

Milagro was so tiny; she looked premature.  Her little legs were so thin and weak.  But her head was big, huge, like an alien's from the bar scenes in Star Wars.  Her little veins were pressed so tightly against her skin because of the pressure from her skull, and her eyes were stretched, almost closed.  The mother said that the shunt the doctor had put into Milagro's head to reduce the pressure was working; her head was getting smaller, slowly.  They say it's hard to tell what causes hydrocephalus, and sometimes a shunt helps, sometimes it doesn't.

Only a couple weeks ago, Quebin (Kevin), a little boy about 7 years old who lived in the house right beside Milagro's, passed away because of hydrocephalus.  He had been admitted to the hospital and had a shunt put in his head, but it didn't work.  He was too old.

After visiting with Milagro's family, we took Quebin's mom to the cemetery where they buried Quebin.  Ten or so children and I rode in the back of Lisa's truck.  One of the older boys carried a little plastic bouquet of red roses.

A lot of the graves are raised, cement structures that they cover in colorful tiles.  Quebin's was a mound of red dirt surrounded by red rocks.  A few purple-leaved plants grew along the sides and a pot of dead flowers rested on top, right next to the little plastic toy palm tree that Quebin's younger brother had put there.  The boy with the roses stuck them in the red dirt, and I realized he was the older brother.  At the head of Quebin's grave was a small wooden cross, painted green and bearing his name across the wings in large, black letters.

I don't think I've ever seen anyone grieve so openly and unashamedly as his mother did.  She sat down on a cinder block next to his grave, grasped the rocks that lined it, and started crying out in Spanish, "My son, my beautiful boy!  I never thought that my boy was going to die..."  She spoke loudly but shakily because of her sobbing.  After we had helped clean the dead leaves and twigs off of the grave, we left.

I'm not sure why all of that stuck with me, but it did.

Ubiquitous Coca-Cola...this is on the side of a pulperia (like the Honduran version of 7-11) in the Dump.

Coming Home

To be honest, leaving was hard this time.  My family all stood behind the white line, behind the sign that says "Ticketed passengers only," and they waved to me as I rode the escalator down to security.  I've said goodbye before, and I thought that I would be fine.  I didn't think I'd have to quickly dry my eyes so I could see to pull out my passport and ticket for the security officer.

When I arrived in the San Pedro airport, though, and an officer there called out, "¿Hondureños? Hondureños aquí, por favor" (Hondurans here, please) to the line of people in front of customs, I started to get excited about being back "home."  I got my first Honduran coca-cola in the airport.  I put all my luggage on top of the missionary's land cruiser.  We drove five hours back to Balfate over bumpy roads, passing slow trucks and dodging bikers.  I saw the bright, colorful lights that extra-flashy people string around their license plates.  We had to use the self-service pump at the gas station because the other pumps were busy and it felt weird to have to do the work ourselves.  We opened the windows once we got off the main road and the breeze was warm.  When I got to my room, the first thing I saw was a "Welcome Home!" sign on my door.  And I was finally glad to be back, back with all the familiar things I love about this place.  


That was Saturday.


Sunday night, a stomach ache that had been bugging me on and off since a little before I left the States turned into a flu or something.  Sitting around and resting all day Monday was not how I had planned to spend my day and definitely not what I wanted to be doing.  I wanted to be working and talking to people and I didn't want to be alone on my second day back, and I started getting frustrated.  


But.  God knew that would be the perfect start to these next four months, I think.  It was like God was asking, "Are you willing to do anything for me?  Even feel sick?"  This was a perfect, yet small, way for me to hand my time over to him, for God to remind me that I'm here for him, and that he's here with me.  If God wants me to serve him by having a great attitude while not doing much of anything, then that's alright with me.  

After that day, I've felt great and had a lovely first week back.  It's 7am now, and at 9:00 I'm leaving to head into La Ceiba with Krystle, another intern staying in staff housing, to do some grocery shopping.  That's good because about all the food I have left right now is an apple, a zucchini, eggs, and some bread.  

 Wanda is the nickname the MK's have given me...don't ask me why.

 Eryn and Benton, my two students.  This was, I think, the fifth attempt at getting a nice picture.

The girls (Sarah, Mariah, and Rebekah) at dinner in town.

Take me, Mold me, use me, fill me,
I give my life to the Potter's hand.
Call me, guide me, lead me, walk beside me,
I give my life to the Potter's hand.