Dad

I am blessed. Not everyone can say they have two amazing fathers. I can.

Tomorrow my earthly dad is turning 57. At least I think that's the right age. My dad does a lot of things. He can change the oil in my car, make a bookshelf, build a house, preach a sermon [without notes] and play baseball. My dad likes peanut butter and onion sandwiches, hiking mountains, chopping wood, building things and mowing the lawn.

Dad, thank you so much for all of the love you've given me. I feel so blessed to have you as my father. I hope you have a wonderful birthday! And I promise to make you an apple pie when I come home :)

Book It

Pebbles squeal in protest beneath my green flip flops as I stride heartily toward the Hogar. I thrust my legs forward like a sumo wrestler entering the ring, clenching my fists tighter and arranging my face in a calculated frown. It’s my Friday walk back from the high school; a two-mile trek that takes about a half hour. Cars and trucks fly by, horns blaring. I wish I had brought something more than the llama purse slung around my neck. Inside I have a few whiteboard markers and Burt’s Bees chapstick, which I know won’t be much good against an attacker. Maybe attacker sounds a little dramatic, but after passing a group of guys a few minutes back who hollered in English and Spanish, attacker is a plausible term. The morning haze evaporates into the azure sky. I gaze around me, taking in the green mountains and I am comforted. The bus stop is in sight, and from there the Hogar is even closer. I continue to pray and my steps are quick, but I am no longer afraid.

As the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the LORD surrounds his people both now and forevermore.
Psalm 125:2

Not only do I arrive unharmed, I cut five minutes off my time thanks to my agitated gait.

Snickers, Stickers and Kickers

My eyes comb the room like an eagle stalking its prey. It’s 8:20 a.m., early enough that the heat hasn’t yet devoured my energy. Heads bow low over desks. A cacophony of sounds filters through the classroom, pens tap on desks, students shriek and laugh outside, birds and insects chirp and sing. I glance out the door at the gray concrete of another classroom and instead direct my gaze back inside. It’s amusing to think that just four and a half years ago, I was probably sitting at a desk taking a similar language exam, except in Spanish.

To think that learning Spanish would turn out to be so helpful. I wish I could convey that to my English students. Language can take a person so many places. I’m completely immersed in Spanish, sometimes so much so that I feel like I am drowning.

There are three things that help me maintain my sanity: Snickers, stickers and kickers.

Snickers. On a diet of oily rice, beans and bread, I am frequently craving sweets. Days off usually include a trip into town. There I reward myself with a Snickers bar. It does not matter to me that the chocolate is melted to the wrapper. I savor the richness with each bite and avoid looking at the calorie count on the label.

Stickers. I used to store stickers in a secret box in my room. When it was time to write a letter to a pen pal, I would slowly pull out the box and dig through piles of Lisa Frank’s blinding creations. I still have a special place in my heart for stickers. A sticker on a letter says, You’re special, You’re worth extra. My students love stickers too. They plaster their notebooks and desks with them. I’m not exactly sure how it began or how it begins, but it has become a trend. A student will approach me, reach up and slap a sticker on my shirt. A mass migration quickly begins to the front of the classroom. Students are prying stickers off of books and papers and proudly rushing to display them on me. It becomes a contest. Who will bring the biggest sticker or the most? I leave classes looking like a walking sheet of stickers. This also happens with other trinkets. I am often given cookies or treats from their lunch boxes, pictures, flowers, and any other thing they can scrounge up. It almost makes up for the screaming in class.

Kickers. I’m all about soccer. It’s refreshing to be in a country where the people take the sport seriously. It’s impossible to go anywhere without seeing at least 10 people sporting the national team jersey. While I haven’t played nearly enough since I’ve been here, it’s still fun to support “la H” [the national team] along with the 100 por ciento Catrachos [Hondurans]. I’ve even purchased a jersey to wear, which was met with mixed reactions. But when it comes down to it, I’m still 100 percent for my team, England. I could never bring myself to support some of the other famous teams like Argentina ;)

Go Green, Green-go, Gringo

I have a shirt that says Go Green. The Hogar kids immediately decided it said gringo. . . For those of you who are as lost as I was, I have provided the following sequential explanation. . . Go Green, Green-go, Gringo.

I am tired of being a gringa. Let me provide you with a local definition: Someone to be stared, whistled, growled, howled and looked at. . . on the bus, on the street, in a store or restaurant. . . when the sun is shining, when it’s raining. . .

I and two of my enterprising volunteer friends were tired of being attacked from behind on our bus rides into town. When I say attacked, I mean massive invasions of personal space.

Let’s look at a real life example. One day we were riding back from town and I was sitting next to Ingrid, a German volunteer who was visiting the Hogar for a month. I felt something or someone touch my hair. Incredulous, I asked her if the guy behind me was really touching my ponytail. Really? She nodded. I leaned forward immediately, trying to put as much space between me and the dirty sketch ball. On his way out, he even put his hand on my shoulder, and it wasn’t the shoulder closest to him.

On another occasion, Laurel decided to joke with Amanda and play with her hair, reenacting the above scenario. Probably five seconds later, I glanced back to notice a large, dirty, fat, creepy hand moving toward the back of her head. I asked her, “Laurel, has anyone ever done that to you?” “Um, no,” she said. “Well, they’re about to,” I said with a suppressed laugh.

So, back to our ingenious idea. We now sit on the back of the bus, and I mean literally. We sit in the very last seats. One would think this has reduced or even eliminated the unwanted attention, but no. We are still subjected to the glazy, perverted glances.

Well, today I became a creeper.

It has been exactly 96 days since I have seen a cute guy. It has also been 96 days since I left the States and touched down on Honduran soil. We have every other Sunday off. Today we went into town to get our fill of junk food and a few supplies we needed. Our usual favorite restaurant was closed so we headed to the snazzier one down another street. Upon entering, we saw a kid eating a plate of french fries. I’d already eaten an ice cream and a smoothie, but french fries with KETCHUP? It was too much to resist. We sat down in the crowded restaurant and waited to order. There were a lot of buff, fit looking guys inside who all seemed to know each other. I told Laurel and Amanda they looked like a soccer team. The tables near us started to disperse as the guys headed to another part of the restaurant. “I wanna ask if they’re on a team,” I told the girls. “Do it,” Laurel said, as she jabbed her head at each one that passed. No one seemed to be going slow enough or looking in our direction and I was getting worried I wouldn’t have anyone to ask. I’m sure I looked like a Grade A creeper as I stared each one down. Finally the last guy made his way past our table . . . and lo and behold, he looked at us. I took the opportunity and ran with it. “So, are you guys on a soccer team,” I asked in Spanish. “Yeah,” he said, “Soccer,” as if to show off his extensive English vocabulary. It turns out they were from Real Juventud, the team from Santa Barbara.

I would just like to thank Mr. Real Juventud, because I did not have a chance to ask his name, for providing me with my first glimpse of a cute guy in 96 days. It didn’t hurt that he played soccer either.

Persevering to be endearing

Being a missionary is easy, easily the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I mentally prepared myself as best as I could before I came to Honduras. I thought of as many difficult scenarios and situations as I could and imagined how I would magically solve them. I pictured what my room would look like and how I would introduce myself to my classes on my first day of teaching. Unfortunately the imagination falls short of reality or maybe it's the other way around. . .

Hours after arriving in Honduras, I had already helped move a family from their small, dirty dwelling. Their possessions fit into a few boxes and their furniture on the roof of Nelson’s car. Talk about contrast. The days and weeks that followed were filled with adjustments. I learned to check my bread for ants and to smell my beans in the morning before thrusting a hearty spoonful into my mouth. Gringa became my new middle name or first name on some occasions. I discovered that a minor in Spanish and hours of study and writing papers did not mean I could freely converse with anyone I wanted. As words fail me and my heart longs for home, I am learning to let God speak for me and to fill the emptiness with His peace and love. Oh how hard that is at times. The past two weeks I have struggled with my frustration. I have struggled with my temper. I have struggled with gossiping. I have struggled with my purpose.

Last Sabbath I volunteered to prepare the lesson. Of course I elected to wait until Sabbath morning to do it. On my way out the door I grabbed my Bible and Max Lucado’s "Everyday Deserves a Chance", an encouraging devotional-like book my friend Michelle indefinitely loaned me. As song service began, I frantically flipped through the book looking for some life-changing idea to share. I decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask for God’s guidance and He definitely delivered. In the next 15 minutes, I discovered a Bible verse that gave me my topic in the chapter Calling for Purposeless Days. Other verses followed as I was impressed to look up the word perseverance in the back of my Bible. Here is what I came up with:

TOPIC
Purpose + Perseverance

1.1 Corinthians 3:5-10 “. . . the Lord has assigned to each his task. I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The man who plants and the man who waters have one purpose, and each will be rewarded according to his own labor. For we are God’s fellow workers; you are God’s field, God’s building. By the grace God has given me, I laid a foundation as an expert builder, and someone else is building on it. But each one should be careful how he builds. For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ.”

--> This year I am realizing that I cannot compare workloads or talents. Working with the kids is not a popularity contest. God has sent each of the volunteers here for a purpose. He is going to use each one of us in different ways. Some of us may be building on the work of another volunteer. Some of us may be clearing the ground for a future volunteer. Some of us may never see the fruits of our labor. The important thing to remember is that we all have our own, specific purpose but that ultimately God is the only one who can bless our efforts.

2. Esther – The story of Esther has always been one of my favorites, ever since I was small. In fact, when I was younger I wished my name was Esther. My favorite part of her story is found in Esther 4:12-14. At first, Esther didn’t know God’s purpose for her, but in time He revealed it and because she accepted the challenge, He was able to work through her to save the Jews.

3. James 1:3, 12 “Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Blessed is the man who perseveres under trail, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him.”

--> Every time I am tempted to give up when I’m having a bad day at school or the kids are angry with me, I will remind myself of these verses. Not only has God given me a purpose here, but He also promises me that I will be rewarded and that the tests I’m going through now will develop perseverance.

4. Revelation 2:3 “You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary.”

--> I don’t think God means we won’t literally be tired, but more along the lines of we won’t give up.

5. Romans 5:2-5 “And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.”

--> I have found so much encouragement in these verses. There are days when I’m so emotionally spent. I am definitely not suffering, but I am struggling. Each struggle presents me with a decision, to press forward, to persevere, or to give up. I knew coming here was going to build my character, but I’m not sure I knew how difficult the process would be. What I love is that it says character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint. To me this verse paints a picture of a dark tunnel, but at the end of the tunnel is a brilliant light.

6. Hebrews 12:1-2, 12 “Therefore, strengthen your feeble arms and weak knees. Make level paths for your feet, so that the lame may not be disabled, but rather healed.”

--> I have already posted Hebrews 12:1-2 in a previous blog, but as I was rereading it, I stumbled on verse 12. I think this is one of my new favorite verses. It’s really simple yet powerful. The kids here at the Hogar have been through so much. They have so much pain and heartache; they have been abandoned and discarded; they are heartsick and in need of healing. Some days it’s very difficult to maintain my temper and attitude. However, this verse reminds me that I must be strong in Christ, so that my example will be uplifting and healing rather than harmful.

Max Lucado writes, “While none of us is called to carry the sin of the world (Jesus did that), all of us can carry a burden for the world.”

I have a burden for Honduras, for this Hogar, for these children. I just pray I will be constantly reminded of my purpose and ask for God’s perseverance.

Javier

Individualism is rather like innocence: There must be something unconscious about it.

-Louis Kronenberger

*Photos taken by Miguel

Cheering for a better attitude

A tornado of maroon and white uniforms whirls toward me. Tiny legs scurry to the black iron fence that separates the Kindergarten class and playground from the path to the Hogar. This flurry of excitement has become a part of my day. Happy voices clamor “Viene la teacher, viene la teacher,” and the cry of “Give me five” spreads along the fence like a piece of juicy gossip. Hands are thrust at me and a few brave souls clamber over, seemingly unaware that the fence is there to keep them inside. I feel like I’ve just finished the world’s longest marathon or discovered a cure for cancer. Some days the gate is left open and the children gush out to meet me, enveloping my frame in a moving hug of childish exuberance.

It’s moments like this that keep me going. This week I needed an attitude adjustment. There were a few days where I let my frustration and bitterness simmer inside of me until the ugly concoction began seeping into my actions and attitude. I felt frustrated with the staff, with the kids, with my surroundings, with my work, with myself. A wise person [my dad] once told me that being happy is a choice and that while we’d like to blame others for our shortcomings or poor attitude, we are the ones who are ultimately responsible.

One day after lunch this week I was helping Marta scrub pots in the kitchen. There had been a pan sitting under the sink for two days. I picked it up and watched as the amber colored water swirled around a few burnt plantains. It kind of looked like my attitude. I grabbed a scrubber and got to work. And thanks to some prayer and a conscious decision on my part, I started to scrub my attitude clean too. Of course that won’t be the last time I have to scrub a pot, or my attitude.
Changing my attitude was only difficult because I made it difficult. I indulged in my bitter thoughts and frustration for a few days, kind of like letting the burnt plantains sit in the dirty pan.
While I am sure the next six months hold plenty of challenges, I am determined to run the race Paul talks about in Hebrews 12:1-2.


“. . . Let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him, endured the cross. . .”

And not only do I have a few Kindergartners cheering for me, but the entire universe and my heavenly Father.