The Christian Gringa

Next month begins my second year in Honduras. Its crazy to think about.

A year ago it took me 30 minutes to get the courage to leave my house and catch a taxi to grocery shop.  I use to cringe at the thought of walking to the local corner store to buy minutes for my phone. The people that yelled through my front gate selling stuff use to scare the heck out of me.  I was even intimidated at church services.  Dios le bendiga huh??  I use to feel everyone stare at my blonde hair and pale skin.  I felt so out of place.

Wow.  What one year can do. 

It will be year number two and not only do I enjoy the pleasant conversations I have with the taxi drivers, many of them know where I live.  The local corner store owners also know me and unlock their doors to welcome me in.  And when the street vendors come to my gate I am eager to see what they are selling.  Also, I have an iPod filled with Spanish Christian music. Dios le bendiga?  Amen!  And about the sticking out thing... I've embraced it with neon clothes and blue hair extensions.  I don't even notice the stares or kissing noises anymore. 

So what's the deal?  What's with the title of this post?  Well, now that I'm at home... Honduras is a whole new animal.  I feel like I've passed the initiation and am now entering the true test.  Can this Christian Gringa survive the real Honduras?  Can she?

Well, as I fight my way through I am remembering what a good friend told me years ago.  I was fighting through a different battle and when I thought there was nothing left, she told me to appreciate the little things.  At that time those little things were things like peppermint hand lotion.  It sounds silly but the smell was something little I found comfort in.

So as this Christian Gringa is fighting to stay true, I just wanted to share a few of the little things that bring me joy and have blessed me throughout my year in Honduras.

1) Hitch hiking through the mountains in the back of a pick-up truck.

2) Hiking for 8 hours a day visiting homes and people no one would ever see.

3) Realizing EVERYthing bites in Honduras.

4) Hearing children yell my name from the top of a mountain.

5) Walking along a highway, buying strange fruits and watching people laugh as I try to eat them.

6)  Sitting outside at night, staring into the mountains and sharing scary stories with a bunch of my favorite boys.

7)  Letting 30 children know I am afraid of large bugs.

8)  The smell of hand made tortillas cooking over a wood fire.

9)  Getting decorated with flowers.

10)  The 50 hugs and kisses I get every day.

11)  Getting called 'Mommy'

I tried to stop at 10 but realized my list could go to 100...  I am blessed.  Everyone should make a list like this. 

Here's to another year.

Hiding from poor people.

It's been a while.  A while since I've been able to write.  A while since I've been able to think.  I'm ending my 8th month in Honduras and the past few months have been tough. 

When I landed in Honduras on October 3rd I hit the ground running.  My passion, my purpose was to help the poor.  I enjoyed every second.  Every long day climbing in the mountains, visiting people in need, sometimes going 8 hours without water.  I was driven and thriving.  I was living my dream!

So what happened?

By month number 6 something started to change.  Poor people were constantly knocking on my door, asking for help.  In months number 1-5 I was running out to greet them.  By month number 6 I was hiding on the floor of my house, pretending I wasn't home.  In months number 1-5 I was climbing into the hardest reached places to meet the poor.  In month number 6 I was trying to avoid them in church.

Ok, so before you judge me let me just say this is candid remember?  Missionary life uncensored?  Well here it is!

I came back to the States for 2 weeks hoping to get recharged but I boarded my return flight with the same disturbing feeling.  Why was I running away from poor people?!  Considering I was a missionary in the poorest country in the Western hemisphere, this was a BIG problem!

Some good friends of mine sent me off with a few books.  One of  them was 'There is Always Enough' by Rolland and Heidi Baker.  Between my 3 flights and 2 hour bus ride back I managed to finish the book.  By the time I unlocked my door in Honduras I was inspired.  Heidi Baker lived to love people.  She gave up everything and lived in slums alongside the outcasts of society.  She truly was/is an example of God's love. 

I was going to be another Heidi Baker.  I was sure of it.

Well, as I was in the salon getting a pedicure...( Yes, really.  I am in flip flops 24/7.  I hike mountains, step on biting ant mounds, run into spiky ground brush and have 50 kids step on my toes every day.) And as I was in the salon I realized I was no Heidi Baker.  Heidi Baker would not be getting a pedicure...

Well you know what?  I kind of started to think I was wrong for this job.  I mean what kind of missionary runs from poor people and gets pedicures? 

It was just this week that God started to show me.  Support started flooding in from everywhere.  Every day someone was donating, helping me.  It was as if God was saying "YES!" I am suppose to be here.  He chose me to be here.  He loves me no matter how imperfect I am.  I don't know if that revelation ever gets old.  But THANK YOU!! To everyone who donated this month.  It has litterally felt like a shower of love and has encouraged me to go on! 

And for the record... I will be making my way back into the mountains next week :) 

Quick and Candid

I just want to take a quick minute and write about what’s been floating around in my head for the past couple of months.  I’ve been writing my blog and sharing what weighs heavy on my heart but there is a part I’ve been leaving out.  The whole point of my blog was to share what being a missionary is really about.  Is it really all about excitement and the miraculous?  What happens in between?

Well, after five months of being a missionary in a country that is plummeting faster than I can report, I’m here to tell you there is a lot of “in between.”  And since this is a quick and candid entry I will feel free to ignore run on sentences and bad punctuation. (Oh my college professors would be cringing.)

OK.  So most of the missionaries I’ve met in my life have been complete families.  They go out onto the mission field and do amazing things.  But what about the single ones??  I just want to say that being on your own in a dangerous place is something completely different.  I only recently realized that no one here has my emergency contact info.  Um…  Really!  And when the city you live in goes into lock down what does a single person do?  Well, I now know each and every crack on my ceiling…  Oh and the best is when you look at your account balance and it says -$100,000,000 (Ok so I’m exaggerating a little) and then you meet a child who desperately needs antibiotics.  Or two little friends at your door that need food.  Or an elderly father of 2 that tells you he needs an $80 treatment or he will die.  What happens then??? 

When I ask for help I think my favorite responses are when well-meaning people tell me what I should do to raise money (like it should be common sense.)  The ideas are great but do they realize I’m not good at EVERYTHING?  Web design and mass marketing were not my best subjects…

And what about the Catholic missionaries?  I recently had the opportunity to see what kind of accommodations they had here in Honduras.  My reaction was “Wow! You can drink the water?” and “You can flush toilet paper?” and “You have residency status already?!” 

Alright, ending what should have been a short rant … I’ve also ran across a few blogs of missionaries who freely write what they think.  Whether offensive or not, they take free liberty in expressing their feelings.  I can barely get through their blogs without thinking they must be fully funded.  Because really??  If I said that sending your troubled teenager to a 3^rd world country was only doing your child good I would lose funding! (oops I probably just did)  But really, in truth, to make a difference in the lives here we need continuous support.  Handing people a bag of rice and beans only makes their week a little better.

Well thanks for listening (if you made it this far.)  I promise to give a more candid report from now on - like it or not :)

 

Muerto

I don't really even know how to begin this blog entry.  Actually, I didn't even want to write it.  But I know this story needs to be shared.

El esta muerto... he is dead.  These are words I've heard this week more times than I can count.  The prison tragedy here has tore through so many lives. Through so many families.  If you don't know what I'm talking about please click on this link.  http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/02/15/us-honduras-jail-fire-idUSTRE81E0OK20120215

This week the mob of families outside the jail in Comayagua, Honduras grew larger by the day.  One morning I saw the army loading into trucks for crowd control.  The people were so desperate to find out if their loved ones were dead that they were pushing their way into the jail.  The cops responded by shooting into the air and throwing tear gas. 

30 of our church members and a nanny at the orphanage lost family members in this tragedy. Diana who is only 18, lost her older brother.  Her family is in Tegucigalpa (the capital of Honduras and 2 hours away) now trying to reclaim the body.  But the process is hard because the bodies are so damaged.  The stories of how these people have to sort through burned corpses is nauseating.  And while Diana’s family is trying to find their son, she is at home preparing their home for the funeral.

This is the situation with a lot of families.  In most cases, mothers and fathers have no choice but to leave their young children at home while they travel to the capital.  Some of these kids are left with no food or money.  The families have no choice.

Yesterday, I joined a group giving food to some of these families.  Each home had a room dedicated to their dead brother or father.  All I kept asking God was "How much more can these people take?!"

One of the homes we visited was that of Diana.  Her parents had been gone for a week searching for the body of their son.  They weren't sure if he was dead but they couldn't sit and wait.  Diana was brave enough to go to the prison and ask again if her brother was alive or dead.

We stood outside the prison gates, joining the line that wrapped around the highway.  Finally a man came over with a list.  We waited anxiously as his finger scanned the 100's of names of deceased prisoners. Page after page we held our breath hoping his finger wouldn't stop.  But it did.  And as he looked up and factually stated "El esta muerto." My heart broke.  Diana's eyes filled and she stood there.  Hope gone, the finality of his statement sinking in.

We need your help.  Please donate through this blog. Your pocket change can feed a family.  $6 will feed a family for 3 or 4 days.  Help me buy food for these families.  Help me relieve a little of their stress so they can mourn their loved ones.

Would you like a tortilla with that?

I have to begin by apologizing. I know it's been a long time since my last post. And for those who have asked for more, you'll be happy to know this is a New Years resolution.

I went home for the holidays and everyone kept asking the same question.  How do I like living in Honduras?  My response came easy.  I LOVE living in Honduras!  But when I tried to explain why I didn't have a good answer.

What was it that made me love living here?  The country is dangerous, impoverished and I have to say, a little boring... So what was it that made me fall in love??

Well, today was a good example of why Honduras has captured my heart.  Although there aren't any museums or salsa clubs each day is a new experience.  Today was just one of many great examples of what makes Honduras so unique.

The kids summer break is nearing an end and we decided to break out of the orphanage and take a walk.  Our group consisted of 11 9-13 yr olds, 2 nannies and me.  It was meant to be an easy, leasurley walk down the quiet road that winds through town. 

We set out on our journey and the kids entertained themselves by finding hidden wildlife along the roadside.  On our route we saw small fish in a river bed and a baby owl perched on a tree.  What we also found was a giant hornets nest.  I don't know what it is about dangerous looking objects but they attract little boys.  Before I knew it they were throwing sticks and rocks high into the tree branches trying to hit it.  After a few minutes of me yelling "STOP!!" they moved on.  Phew.  Tragedy averted!  Or so I thought...

20 minutes later we were making our way back to the orphanage.  As we walked the road was full of cheerful yelling, laughing and complaining.  This might be why it took me so long to notice the sounds of objects hitting tree branches.  Before I could even get a word out of my mouth I heard a CRACK!  All of a sudden every single child started running and screaming!  "No way!" was all I could think until I turned and saw a GIANT black cloud of hornets pouring out of a nest high above our heads! 

It only took that one look and I was racing down the road behind all of the screaming kids.  Some were swatting at their clothing, others were screaming and crying as they tried to shake the swarms of wasps out of their hair.  I remember thinking 2 things at that point 1) oh Lord help us and 2) thank God we are going down hill. 

After a quarter mile of screaming, running and swatting we were finally rid of them.  And even though most of the kids had big, stinging bites they started LAUGHING!!!  Really?!  Yes. Laughing!  Some how this was not a horrible experience but a great adventure.  One of the biggest highlights of this 'adventure' was seeing their teacher (me) running so fast.  And I have to admit, after my heart stopped racing I started laughing too!

Was there a good lesson learned here?  I don't think so.  But the kids will be talking about this forever.

This is just a normal day for me in Honduras.  And I promise to share many more :)

Silent Killer

Honduras has the highest murder rate in Central America. This is what I´ve been reading in the news but haven´t understood until now. 

When I think of violence I think of my neighborhood in Chicago where gun fire is a common sound at night. I think of dark cars creeping down a street or suspicious figures standing on a corner.  When I think of violence I think of how my own home was exposed to 10 rounds of ammunition...  I think of violence ending in police cars and flashing lights.

Here in Honduras the only sounds at night are roosters crowing and dogs barking.  The only cars creeping past are the occasional taxis navigating the unpaved road.  I have never seen a corner roped off by police tape or squad cars flying by.  So where is all of this violence??

Violence here is a silent killer.  Its not announced by screaming sirens or crowds of bystanders.  Violence here happens quietly.  The only way you would know it exists is if you know the people it affects. And it affects EVERYONE. 

The more I get to know my friends the more I am horrified at the atrocities they have faced.  Every one of them has a horrific story of how a loved one was murdered.  Some have stories of whole families being massacred!  None of these were gang or drug related.  Some were solely over arguments and others over money.  Young children have been killed over nothing!

I am still trying to digest all of this.  But I don´t think its possible.  When my friends share their heart and hardships it almost seems unreal.  Is this really the country I´m living in? Did these things really happen to my wonderful friends?? Now when I sit and listen to the silence I know there is an evil at work all around me.  The silence is no longer peaceful. 

Poverty and neglect brought me here.  Now I realize there is much more... I don´t own a gun and the only physical weapon I have is pepper spray.  But I know I have a greater defense.  Please pray for Honduras!

Anchored

So it has been a while since my last post...  There are a lot of reasons for this (one being my computer is on its last leg)  but it is definitley not for a lack of content!  Totally the opposite actually.  Every day here is a new experience.  Some, no most of them are wonderful experiences and I feel blessed beyond words.  Others just stretch my faith.  But during every experience I have this anchor.  This anchor cheers me up when I'm sad and encourages me when my pace slows.  This wonderful anchor reminds me why I'm here and why I can't leave.  It inspires me to think outside of the box and continues to challenge me.  I wanted to show you what anchors me.  What keeps me here.  What keeps me passionate and determined to fight. 

Its the children.



Sweet, inquisitive Moises followed me around for hours asking me to take pictures.  When I told him this  would be his last picture this was his smile.



I was having lunch one day with 3 very entertaining young boys.  I excused myself to get a glass of water and returned to an empty table! Wonder where they went??



Little Nohelia.  This is her pouting face.  She only does it by request now that she knows it makes me laugh.

hahaha ;)



We took the 3,4 and 5 year olds on a walk through town.  On our way an elderly woman was blessed to tears by the kindess of the children. 

Anchored.