I love What I do

I know that I love what I do here but today I had an especially grateful moment. Walking home from our first meeting of ‘Domingos Divertidos’ (Fun Sundays) hand in hand with a little six year old boy named Noe, I looked around me and everything just felt right. In front of me, Tyler walked on the dusty road holding hands with Marvin and beside me, Noe and Cristian talked about how they were going to ask their Papi to make sure they were always free and ready for Sundays. And ahead, the sun was beginning to set and the clouds perfectly floated above Talanga. A perfect feeling of contentness and blessing.

Today was the culmination of over a month and half of planning for the start of our program Domingos Divertidos. When we first arrived, I wrote a blog about visitors—and I said that my favorite visitors were the afternoon visitors, our little visitors. These visitors were just a handful of the street kids that live in Talanga. They would come to our house run wild with Oso, our dog, and play ball. Like hurricanes, they whipped through our house touching and asking for everything. They were wild, chaotic, and completely in their own world.

Well, fast forward to four months later, in November, Tyler and I started planning a program for these children that have so little in their lives. Most of them don’t go to school and many spend most of their time on the streets running around bare foot. They either don’t live with their parents or their parents are busy working and so leave them with nothing to do all day. With these children in mind, we set forth to plan a program that would meet once a week to teach in an interactive and fun manner. This group would be something special—just for them—and in each meeting, we would give them a snack or some incentive to come back. Through the month of November and December and early January, we met with Prof. Daniel to write a mission, vision, goals statement, a list of goals, find a location and write a curriculum for six months.

A week before our first meeting was planned, Tyler and I went out on a search to find these kids. Tuesday morning, we found one and were later visited four or five times by different combinations of the kids we had met earlier in the year. As we explained the idea to them, they were excited but didn’t know what day it was and so had no idea how many days there were until Sunday. And so here we encountered our first problem. This is when we made the rule only one visit a day. Wednesday morning we were awoken at the crack of dawn by another visit and then we made the rule that they are only allowed to visit to switch books in the afternoon. As the days passed by, we encountered quite a few visits and we also had some combination of these mischievous ones climb our wall when we were not there to play with Oso and leave our front gate wide open. When Sunday came around, we weren’t sure if any of them would realize that it was the day for Domingos Divertidos or if they would come to our house.

And so Sunday came and at 1:30 exactly, we had three knocks on our door and the grinning faces of three of our little friends. Edwin, one of the boys, told me yesterday that he was going to change his clothes and wear shoes especially for our program. And he wasn’t the only one. Marvin and Cristian both came over cleaned and with shoes. Marvin was even wearing part of his school uniform. They went to search for Noe, Marvin and Cristian’s little brother, and then returned to the house. Because of the heat, they all decided to wash their faces with buckets of water from our pilla and were thus fresh faced and sparkling clean for our walk to the library where the program would start. As we walked, Edwin took my hand and then Noe the other. Then Marvin held Tyler’s hand and Cristian took Edwin’s hand and told Noe to hold Tyler’s so that we would be like a chain. And so there we walked all six of us hand in hand to the library.

When we arrived, our plan was to have them write their names on the board so that we could write the right spelling on their name tags. I called Cristian, the oldest, to the board to write his name and the others followed up in suit. I asked Cristian to write his name and he started and then Noe asked me what letter his name started with. It soon became clear that none of them knew how to spell their names. Cristian is 11, Edwin is 10, Marvin is 7 and Noe is 6. They do not know how to spell their names. After a quick lesson on how to spell their names, we moved on to rules and they helped us write some rules. With that done, we made name tags and they couldn’t have been more excited about markers and paper. After completing those, we watched a movie, ate a snack, prayed, and then played with stickers. A short game of soccer followed.

And then we headed home. After three hours of meeting, our first meeting was over and these wild crazy hurricanes that had swept through our house in the first months we were here had now become these relatively calm friends with whom we had shared laughter and watched a movie. There are moments from my time with them that just jump to mind and make me so grateful for what I’m doing. Noe, the youngest, was enthralled in the movie. We watched The Tigger Movie—and his eyes rarely left the screen and chuckles of laughter erupted from him every once in a while. And when we told them that Tyler and I like thank yous and pleases, the next four or five sentences from each of their mouths was covered in thank yous and pleases.

I don’t feel like anything I’ve written does justice to the feeling of contentness and joy that I received from today. Simply to have the respect and calmness of these four boys to listen, to help each other out, and to laugh and learn with us is incredible. Yes, they are mischievous and naughty and wild, but the little pieces of paper that we gave them to tell them about Domingos Divertidos came back to us today a little dirty but tightly folded and safely held in their pockets. One of the reasons why we created this program was to give these kids something of their own, something special that shared with them the love that they deserve in their lives—and today I felt like, maybe, in a small way I had achieved that.

I love what I do.

Worn Out

Worn out

I love what I do here. I love waking up with a different day ahead of me. I love spending most of my time being a kid or being with children that fill me with laughter and smiles that stretch from ear to ear. I love knowing that I never know what a day holds me and that surprise after surprise awaits me. But, despite how much I love being here, sometimes I just feel plain worn out.

When I think about the enormity of some of the issues that Honduras face, I sometimes just want to give up. Despite differing degrees of poverty throughout the country, there are many giant issues that plague Hondurans on a day to day basis. For example, over 70,000 people suffer from HIV/AIDS in Honduras. For the ninth year, Honduras has had the highest population of HIV/AIDS sufferers in the Western hemisphere. Does that number even shock you? Do you even realize the enormity of that number? We visit the Casa Pasionista, a home for those suffering with HIV/AIDS or the sickness as they call it here and we spend time with maybe 7 internos—I think that means that we spend time with a 1/1000 of the people that suffer from the sickness in Honduras. Are we even scratching the surface?

Illiteracy is another issue that is just so huge that it easily becomes overwhelming. As a child, I was brought up being read to most nights and loving the magic of escaping into a new adventure each night. It breaks my heart that there are so many children who cannot read. We visit Corralitos, an aldea, and we have started bringing books to lend to the children. Today, when we visited one of my favorite houses where almost 11 kids live, I lent out books to 4 or 5 of the children to later find out that only the 2 oldest who were not there know how to read. We have another little boy who is 9 nine years old and cannot read. What is the point in lending books out to children that can’t read? Shouldn’t we be addressing the bigger issue of illiteracy?

And so in day to day work, it can be very discouraging to look at the big picture. When there is a desire to help, a sincere genuine desire to do something for the betterment of lives, it can sometimes seem plain pointless. Will bringing books to aldeas even begin to start addressing illiteracy? Will one year spent in a town make any difference in the lives of Talangans or mine? Will one support group for domestic violence victims do anything to alter the cultural acceptance and silence towards domestic violence? In asking all these questions, my mind suddenly went back to an Oscar Romero prayer. He says,



“It helps now and then to step back and take a long view.
The kingdom is not only beyond our efforts, it is even beyond our vision.

We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of the magnificent enterprise that is God’s work.

Nothing we do is complete, which is a way of saying that the kingdom always lies beyond us.
No statement says all that could be said.
No prayer fully expresses our faith.
No confession brings perfection.
No pastoral visit brings wholeness.
No program accomplishes the Church’s mission.
No set of goals and objectives includes everything.

This is what we are about:
We plant the seeds that one day will grow.
We water seeds already planted, knowing that they hold future promise.
We lay foundations that will need further development.
We provide yeast that produces far beyond our capabilities.

We cannot do everything, and there is a sense of liberation in realzing that. This enables us to do something and to do it very well.
It may be incomplete but it is a beginning, a step along the way, an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest.

We may never see the end results, but that is the difference between the master builder and the worker.

We are workers, not master builders;

Minsters, not messiahs.

We are prophets of a future not of our own.”



My hope is that I might be able to keep this prayer in the fore front of my mind, but right now, I just feel completely worn out trying to be the worker.

New Eyes

I find myself cuddled up in blankets listening to the constant, beautiful pitter patter of afternoon rain on our large corrugated metal roof. Though we are in the midst of what is supposed to be the dry season, the coldness of winter has finally arrived and the warmth of my bed is a perfect place to hide from the cold and rain. Today marked the end of a nine-day visit from Mum and Dad and though as I write, I feel that the weather outside mirrors the sadness in my heart for being without them, I am also acutely aware of the renewed perspective and importance that their visit has given to my work.

Because of a flat plane tire, Mum and Dad arrived a little later than expected in Tegucigalpa and after some quick introductions to the team, we jumped into a rental pick up truck to drive to Lake Yojoa. This was my first time driving in Tegus, but I decided to wait to share that with them since driving period is a little scary in this congested city. As darkness started to cover the countryside, we arrived at the lake to meet our friendly and very typically English innkeeper and see our home for the next three days. And then we lived the highlife with the people in Honduras who spend hours on the lake in their boats and come to the marina to fish and get away from work. We were surrounded by the most breathtaking scenery of mountains, lakes, and untouched greenery. Our days were consumed by visits to 43km tall waterfalls decorated by rainbows, early morning rowboat rides accompanied by toucans, bats, turtles, and iguana spottings, and countless hours spent catching up on the past four months over coffee and snacks. The tranquility of the still and beautiful lake seeped into our days and when Sunday arrived, we somewhat begrudgingly made our way to Talanga.

But Talanga would hold a different kind of treat—a challenge nonetheless, but one in which hospitality and giving would be redefined. After being picked up at the airport, we made our way to Talanga to check into the nicest hotel in Talanga to find out that the hot water was not working, but would be fixed. Mum and Dad being flexible as they are said no worries and we started our walk into the center of town. We stopped first at the hardware store of Isabel, my host mom, and with overly generous slices of bread pudding, we spent an hour or so together. And then planning on a quick visit to Chico, our corner store neighbor, we spent another 30 minutes sharing the jokes and laughter of families. Mass ended the night with introductions and a celebration of our faith that though different surpasses boundaries of language and culture.

The next couple of days seem to fly by in a blur—Monday, we ventured to Valle de Angeles to explore the numerous artisan stores and share a meal with the team and Tyler’s girlfriend, Maria. With Monday being New Years Eve, we made our way back to the hotel to rest and shower—but since electricity was low, the electric water pump was not working and so I got my right leg shaved before the water went out. New Years Eve was celebrated in high spirits with a lengthy mass, a dinner and fireworks at Isabel’s, visits to see nativity scenes and friends, and finally a massive explosion of fireworks and the burning of the old year. Tuesday, Mum and Dad were welcomed into the community of Terrero Colorado in two separate holiday get togethers where we offered food and companionship and where hike like walks became jokes understood in all languages and humble thank you s from both groups were shared. We feasted on candy bars and chips that night because none of the three restaurants in Talanga were open. Wednesday, Dad put on his soccer shoes to join the kids and Mum joined in the exciting Uno game in Camelotal. We visited the Montesorri classrooms at the orphanage and then spent an hour or so meeting some of the internos at the Casa. A last night feast at Old House ended our time in Talanga.

Departure date had arrived and as we drove to the airport, we received a phone call saying all flights were cancelled. At the airport, the news seemed different so with a sad good bye, we parted our ways with the promise of continuous communication. Well, about three hours later—through much detective work, I found out that the flight was canceled and that they were rescheduled for Saturday and were checking into a hotel. Matt, Amy, and I found my parents in the Mariott—and shared some cake with them and made plans for a sleep over the next night. Last night was spent sharing time with my family and enjoying some creature comforts in the Mariott. And then today, our second round of goodbyes stung as painfully as the first time and two little parts of my heart boarded the plane for Miami.

I could write for pages about what Mum and Dad and I did while they were in Honduras, what we talked about, what we saw—but when it comes down to it, that’s not what was important. What was important was the way in which the people welcomed them. They were treated as royal visitors—given precious gifts of food and even more precious words of welcome and love. They were invited to feasts and thanked for their visits. And they were truly thanked—not just haphazardly—but sincerely and humbly thanked for their visits to humble homes where their time shared was seen as the beginning of friendships. As my Mum so perfectly said, in this time where language and culture were not shared, human relationships were stripped of all excess to the heart of a simple human welcoming another human into their home. They were surrounded by children who with no insight of their lack of Spanish chatted and read fairy tales to them. And so it was in these experiences that for me, I was given a new appreciation, a new understanding of the love that these people can share with complete strangers. I swelled with warmth, with pride to see these people that I have come to care for and love welcoming my parents with such loving hearts and genuine actions.

And so, though right now, it is hard to think of anything else than my sadness of them not being here, I have been blessed with a new perspective and new appreciation for the people I live with, the people I work with, and the people I can now call friends. Seeing Honduras through new eyes has given me a new sense of purpose—not only to try and welcome and love the people as they did my parents, but also to be able to look at Honduras with the curiosity, the questions, and the appreciation that my parents brought with them.