May You Travel Well

I think the question I dread the most is “So, what did you do while you were in Honduras?” I don’t hesitate when answering this question because the answer won’t please the inquirer. I hesitate because I am not sure either of us will have enough time.

I played video games and wrestled on the trampoline.

I helped build some houses and somehow became a person whom people came to with building related questions (I answered them incorrectly, by the way).

I joked with those in line for food at the dump and was haunted by the images I saw from the day.

I sighed in relief when the boys’ had English homework and learned that common core math is not the great Satan that so many believe that it is.

I talked about Jesus with my boys and danced in Bible Class because my dancing is better than my Spanish (That was a lie; it is just funnier).

I thanked God for a chance to be here for six month and was flabbergasted by the support that was shown to me by friends, family, church family, theater family, school family, and all the others who claim me.

I wondered what my students where up to and missed having an audience of 120 eighth graders each day.

I still caught myself from audibly gasping when seeing someone digging through the trash for food and loved when I could actually talk with the kids who would come to feeding.

I met people who turned into family and became family for those who may lack that.

I learned that I can read a book aloud if the road isn’t too windy and found that a simple devotional each morning among friends can change the whole day.

I discovered that my Spanish still has a long way to go but that it is sufficient for most conversations—at least the important ones.

I laughed with the boys when I probably should’ve scolded them and scolded them when I probably should’ve laughed with them.
I cooked many baleadas for breakfast and portioned food like a champ for dinner. 

I found that being a proxy-parent of a student (even an honor roll student) is not all rainbows and gumdrops and that parents are usually under-informed.

I realized that I am NOT a dog person (especially when there are four) but that watching chickens for a second can be calming.

I sprained a pinky playing basketball and had a respiratory infection for a month.

I ate delicious Honduran food and dreaded the day when beans would not be part of breakfast.

I ungraciously taught Henrry some English and laughed with him when “thirty-three” became the bane of his English speaking existence.

I dreamed that one day my boys could come to the States for college and began making plans that I have faith will come to fruition.

I became much closer with Carlos and became excited about his future.
I loved when Reina would wash my clothes and ate some delicious food that she prepared. 

I woke up at 5 to go get tools ready for teams and only complained 75% of the time.

I hiked up many hills and only fell a few times.

I Skyped and oovoo-ed with my family and friends and thanked God for modern technology even when it had its bad moment.
I wore an ankle bracelet (which I did not think I ever would) and smiled when Antonio handed it to me. 

I refused to play soccer because I knew I would be annihilated but shot a basketball or two because, compared to the boys, I am not terrible. (I am still so, so terrible).

I took time (mainly because it was forced on me) to rethink about things that I hold (held?) true and spoke with a variety of people who embrace myriad opinions.

I witnessed disparity and poverty and wrestled with God for answers.

I slept through loud music and plotted the death of many roosters.

I spent too much time discussing Clash of Clans and eventually just let the boys take over my clan.

I was disappointed when God let me know that this is not where I need to be right now but relieved to know that He has not shut that door.

I understood why some believe that short term mission teams do more damage than good and reaffirmed my believe that short term mission teams can positively change the world.

I spent countless hours with David and was neither killed by David nor wanted to kill him.

I rode in the truck for countless hours and sang too often at the top of my lungs.

I fell deeper in love with Yovani, Marvin, Mario, Francisco, Jairo, Carlos, Saul, Antonio, and Henrry.

I learned so much more about a God who loves His people, continuously molds their lives, loudly calls them to action, and patiently waits for them to catch up to His plan.

I changed.

On Sunday, I will return home. On Sunday, I will leave home.

I knew going into this that July would be extremely difficult for me. I had already considered Honduras like a second home, but after six months, those words have taken on a deeper meaning. My place of refuge has become my room upstairs. My place of entertainment has become the TV room with the boys. My thoughts and actions have been intricately woven into the workings of Mountain Top Ministries; tearing away from this will be painful. There will be (and have been) many tears shed over the next few days. There will be moments when I will wonder what in the world I am doing. There will be many questions that will not receive answers. There will be moments when the transition will be excruciating.

That is not to say that I won’t be happy at home. I have profoundly missed so many people and aspects about my home in WV. There hasn’t been a day that has passed when my thoughts haven’t wandered back to my family, friends, church, and life back home. My heart has ached for the West Virginia hills.

But soon, my heart will ache for the Honduran mountains; there will be moments when my thoughts will be thrown to playing video games with the boys or passing out food at the dump, and I will be knocked down. Please, be there to help me up with question or judgment. And if I can’t get back up at the time, then sit down with me. Be patient and understanding. Realize that I do not love you any less because I miss another. Many who have spent time away from home understand that a heart can be torn in two and never feel complete again.

And that is okay.

Thank you to those who have invested in this adventure, whether through a check, a word of encouragement, and/or a prayer. When I think about all who have been a part of this trip, I am overwhelmed by your confidence in me and God using me. Understand that this adventure is just beginning—it is my hope that I can play an active part in MTM even after I am no longer physically here; I have confidence that I will return here. I will talk to anyone and everyone who wants to hear about the work that is being done here, and probably even to those who don’t want to hear about it.

Each time you leave a store or group of people in Honduras, someone will say “Que le vaya bien!” to you. This phrase basically means, “May you travel well.” I have found comfort in these simple words. As you go about in the world, may you travel well. When you are leaving one home to return to another home, may you travel well. On your way to work and school, when you interact with those you love and those who drive you up a wall, may you travel well. When you are laughing with friends or crying with loved ones, may you travel well. As you build a house or help clean up after a flood, may you travel well. Wherever God sends you next—to a foreign country or simply down your street—may you travel well.

Week 25-Group Season

I knew in January that the final part of this journey would be spent with different short-term mission teams. Having been on several mission teams and having been here while groups were here during different summers, I knew that working with teams was time consuming. I had no idea.

Though not officially part of Torch Missions, David is an integral part in making arrangements and ensuring that everything runs relatively smoothly for all of Torch’s teams. That may include calling different children’s homes, calling for bulk food to be delivered, making various reservations for groups, preparing tools in the morning, and assisting with house builds. Because I am part of the MTM teams, I have been able to play a part in all of this, too. I used to believe hell was an eternal faculty senate meeting; I am now convinced that at least one level of hell is watching someone square up a house and knowing that your involvement would only make the process slower. All in all, though, I have come to enjoy many aspects of group season.  I enjoy being able to visit the hospital and play with kids there, even if I am reticent at the start. I enjoy working with others to build a house in a couple of hours. I enjoy worshipping and English and speaking with others about a slew of topics, even if small talk makes me want to vomit. I enjoy seeing Honduras through another’s set of eyes.

Groups of 18, 92, 30, 32, and 120 have come through the mission house. Those numbers represent some interesting characters. Some have encouraged me; one lady absolutely brightened my spirit when I was with her. At home, she takes interests in young girls who lack guidance and brings this loving-kindness with her to Honduras. She has an undeniable heart for people; after speaking with her, you know that you were heard and loved. I love the people who are totally invested in the work that is done here—work in Honduras, for them, is not just about the ten days that they are here, but also the other 51 weeks. These people are constantly praying for the people, know individuals by name, and sacrifice to help fund ongoing missions. I love the new-timers who help my jaded heart re-see parts of this world. God has used these people to help me rethink, reshape, and reaffirm my outlook on this world.

There are other characters on these trips that… quite frankly, should reconsider why they come on trips. You have those who love to play Santa Claus. Giving gifts can be a nice gesture—it can also be detrimental to a community’s makeup. There are the cocky veterans who create more work for those who are here for the other 355 days of the year. There are a few that come and treat this time like summer camp, creating pseudo-romantic attachments with some Hondurans here. They do not realize that when Hondurans fall for someone, they fall hard and can create emotional problems that those who live here have to help sort out. Some come because Honduras is their “happy place.” Hearing someone use those words almost made me puke on the spot. It would be more prudent to find a happy place that is closer to home and send the money that is used on the trip to a missionary here. I realize that this is probably judgmental and maybe unfair, but when someone comes on a short-term trip for 16 years and has never invested more than their ten days here, that is a problem.

This morning, we said goodbye to a group that I will treasure for a long time. Last year, Anna and Jake (my sister and brother-in-law) moved to San Angelo, TX, to work with the Johnson St. church of Christ. Shortly after their move, I went to Johnson Street to talk with them about this trip. The church’s missions committee became my largest donor even though they had spent so little time with me. Little did I know that a year later, I would be working side-by-side with a group of teens and adults, led excellently by my sister (seriously, this chick should get paid to lead these trips). The different service projects and activities were not new to me—I had done them countless of times—but being able to experience it with a group of 30 people who had never been here before helped me to remember why God has placed a passion for this country in my heart. This group was refreshing. The leaders stressed that they are only a small part of the ongoing work here. This group felt profoundly and processed much of what they saw on a much deeper level than many I have seen. Worship with this group was unbelievable—partly because of their apparent love of God, and partly because they could really SANG.

As they were leaving today, I felt as if family was leaving. I am excited to see what God does with this group; I know that, for many of them, lives will be changed because of the experiences here.

I have one more week in this place—a week of watching houses being squared and errands being run. A week of wrestling, video game playing, and homework doing. A week of laughter, hugs, and probably plenty of tears. I am thankful that I have another week here.