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.