And one to grow on...continued

The return

Heading to a house dedication

I  just got back from a walk with Maddox. It was our usual route but this time there was nothing usual about it. As I started down the first street I immediately felt emotional. The difference of walking on a clean paved sidewalk and not trudging down uneven paths littered with glass, trash and animal feces. I was wearing my flip flops. Half the kids we saw the past week didn’t even have those. A block down the road I passed by the elementary school, a school where every kid has the same opportunity to learn. In San Francisco I met kids that didn’t go to school because they didn’t have shoes or couldn’t afford uniforms. My little buddy Maria said her family couldn’t afford the bread and sugar and other things the school demanded.

I found myself crying.

As I continued my walk, my mind searched for answers. Should I feel guilty, angry, depressed? On the fence posts on either side of a driveway I saw two clusters of dried corn, a typical decoration for Thanksgiving. There was my answer. Give thanks. 

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It’s not a sprint. It’s not a marathon. It’s a mission, a mission that soon takes the form of a passion. It’s something that once it strikes, it never leaves you. At least I don’t expect it to anytime soon.

I came into the trip tired, stressed and overwhelmed by everything going on in my life. We are now down 2 staff members at work on an already small team. My dog had exploratory surgery 4 days before departure. And the vaccinations and malaria medication have caused some serious gastro distress. I was mentally, physically and emotionally drained.

Playing doctor

It took one visit to the village of San Francisco to put everything into perspective, well maybe two. But quickly the world, the “craziness”, that I feel surrounded by sometimes melted away. A hacky sack, a piece of candy, a soccer ball, a band-aid, a cup of cold, clean water, a smile. There are such small things, insignificant to most of us, which bring a world of joy to these children.

Day one

It started with a late night and an early morning. On the short flight to Atlanta the only thing on my mind was putting my arms around my parent’s necks. It had been a tough week and I needed their comfort. Even more so, I was about to travel thousands of miles away to a developing country and I was excited to join them on the journey.

Upon my arrival in Atlanta, I learned that the flight from Mississippi was delayed, really delayed. My much anticipated hug session with my parents would not go as I anticipated. I had firm instructions and they were, “do NOT get on that plane.” The gate attendants told me to get on the plane.  I was told they were holding the plane but I still waited until the last second possible to board. Finally the 29 other missionaries in their light blue shirts boarded the plane. I finally got my hugs.

Now I’m writing these entries post trip. I took a few notes each day to jog my memory, schedules, stories, moods, etc….I could just paint the rosy parts but what’s the fun in that.

Day one was the longest damn day of my life. It was very comforting to hear from Mom that the sentiment was shared. We arrive in Honduras around 11:30 am. It took some time to get luggage and go through customs. All bags and all passengers arrived safely. The rain started about the time the mission team boarded the bus, a school bus (no air conditioner). I am now in the land of no toilet tissue in the toilet and constant hand sanitizer.

Daddy and I at a dedication

About an hour later we arrived at Power Chicken, the lunch spot of choice for the past few years. I’m not really sure what I ate but I also didn’t care. I was tired, hot and in need of a shower. But then we were off to the market for an hour. While wandering through the aisles of crap I will never need, I stumbled upon what must have been a butcher’s station. There’s nothing quite like seeing a bloody leg of meat in a hot, sweaty market post lunch. (spoiler alert: I will recant this statement in a few days, more than once.) The hour at the market finally ends. At 5:30 we arrive at Los Glorias, after a two hour bus ride up into the mountains. Now one would expect the first day to be really low key. Perhaps some downtime to unpack and lie in the hammock, have a nap??? We had an about an hour so I did just that. Following that hour we headed to dinner followed by a devotional and foot washing ceremony.

By the 8:00 devotion time, I was fit to be tied. Bad me didn’t participate in the actual washing (I wasn’t the only one). I felt a pang of guilt which bubbled into anger. I wasn’t sure that I was ready for a binge fest of Jesus.

At the time, I was still focused on what I was going to be giving to these people. It hadn’t sunk in that I too would be on the receiving end of things.