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.