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.