Home Sweet Honduras

On the last day of 2014, I am currently sitting* in the Honduran airport on my way to Houston, where I'll spend the next few days before my month long missionary training in Colorado Springs (MTI--a requirement for new Micah missionaries).  Even though I know that God knows way more than I do/his plans are best, I have to admit it has been difficult for me to look forward to leaving my new home.  The Micah boys, staff, and Villa Linda Miller community have weaseled their way into my heart in a forever sort of way.  When there are kids involved that seem to grow inches (physically and metaphorically), a month feels like a lifetime of new memories I'm leaving behind.  However, I have been reminded that my leader and Lord "left behind" those that he loved in his time here in our world.  And as he told his disciples in John 14:18, "I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you."  And, in reality, as much as I love the boys (and the girls from the Villa ;)), they weren't mine to begin with.  They're God's, and he has their past, present, and future in his hands.  They never were orphans--they're God's children, and he is a faithful father.  With that said, I am going to keep this entry short.  All I have to say is this: Honduran family, I love you so much.  But this is not goodbye, it's Hasta Luego.

And Houston**?  I'm looking forward to the next few days with y'all!!!!!  You're my family, too, and I long to see y'all again soon!

*Well, standing... it's a tall enough table for me to do my traditional no-sit computer usage without looking terribly awkward

**A little stop along the way ;)

Graciasgiving

     I woke up this morning to an unusually frigid morning for Honduras.  Even Midwestern me broke out the only jacket I brought along.  As my roommate commented, "it'll actually feel like a real Thanksgiving!"  Glad she was able to start the day off in gratitude even if my internal monologue was slightly more cynical.  Bracing the outdoors, I buried myself under a quilt to do my early morning devotions on our back porch.  And so began my first Honduras Thanksgiving.  And what a long, slow, beautiful morning it was.  Gracias Numero Uno: Thursdays are my day off, which was such a blessing to have after our long weekend traveling with the boys.  We had such an amazing trip rafting, cliff jumping, and all sorts of bus bonding, but I was definitely thrilled to have some time to myself.  The extra time also allowed me to skype my family in IL for Thanksgiving breakfast.  It was especially fun for me to see my bro and Christine, since I hadn't seen them since their wedding.  (Although I could have done without the random items my mom enjoyed shoving in the computer screen, not sure what the waving donut was all about... haha, kidding mom--loved every second of your nonsense ;)...).
   Around lunch time, I began helping (more like watching) my roommate to prepare a few things for an American Thanksgiving dinner through a few women in our Bible study.  I would obviously love to spend this holiday with the boys here, but since the Hondurans don't really have the same attachment to pilgrims and Native Americans as we do (or do we really?) there isn't as much of a draw for them to celebrate.  Yes, I was certainly looking forward to filling my belly with the American delicacies (mainly sweet potato casserole), however my plans changed drastically fifteen minutes prior to departure.
     When I walked over to the boys' place to check in on a few things, I found the staff and boys getting ready to depart for "un entierro."  A funeral.  The father of one of the teenage girls next door, a girl who is in my Bible study and soccer outreach, was murdered last night.  Her father, a taxi driver, was murdered by one of the gangs by not paying him "un impuesto"--a gang "tax" of sorts that they'd forced him to pay.  Keyla, beautiful sweet Keyla, lost her father to the violence of the city.
     When I arrived at the funeral, I couldn't help but notice by the faces of those around me that death was no stranger here.  Other than immediate family, many people's expressions gave the impression that this was just like any other gathering.  There were even a few venders selling some sort of pudding.  Murder yesterday, funeral today.  So fast, so a part of life's rhythm... A crowd of 100 or so were gathered for the ceremony--a shoulder to shoulder huddle around the dirt mound with people shuffling forward to catch a glimpse of the man praying over the casket.  Keyla stood with a fierce, contemplative expression as she and her mom watched in a daze.  At first everything seemed like a hurried activity--but then, the prayer.  With an ever increasing voice, the man who was praying kept speaking "Gracias a Dios... Gracias a Dios." Gratitude after gratitude, praise after praise, the man praying kept lifting up all the things we have to be thankful for.  I could hear the crowd around me mumbling and speaking their own praises and thanksgivings to the Lord until a somber yet sweet song started to break through.  At first I couldn't tell if it was people or angels--it was such a beautiful song.  I couldn't help but marvel at the strength of those around me.  In the midst of such injustice, suffering, and pain, the song that broke through with such honesty and beauty was a song of praise.  Thanksgiving in its purest form.
     After the prayers and songs began to fade, a few mourning women let out their heavy wails, people scurried forward to snag a peek at the descending casket, and Keyla and her mom embraced in a prolonged hug.  Rather than join the rubbernecking crowd (being the only white girl with a head of cornrows and a bright yellow sweatshirt already draws enough attention--I'd rather not appear like a funeral tourist...), I stayed aside and listened to the thuds of the dirt hitting the casket.  Thud.  Thud.  Thud.  Another body.  Another life.  Another death.
     As the dirt kept piling up, the people started to trickle out... As I watched the people part, I was confronted with the reality of our mortality and how life goes on...  From dust to dust... But beyond that, I was reminded of the deep gratitude that is mine as a believer in Christ.  Praise the Lord that he has conquered death.  Praise the Lord that there is hope beyond the grave.  Gracias.  Gracias. Gracias.  Every day belongs to the Lord, and every day is worthy of praise.  Thank you, Lord, for another day, but thank you that when it is my last here on earth, it is my very first in the wonderful, extraordinary life to come.  In the meantime, comfort those who are tasting the bitter fruit of death, and give them hope that there is life to come.
     And now, hours later, not only did the Lord shake up my afternoon plans, but he even allowed me to have my Thanksgiving dinner with my beautiful Micah family (even if they didn't know it was Thanksgiving dinner).  Whether they know it or not isn't important to me, but I know.  And for each and everyone here that I was able to share this day with, I am eternally grateful (literally).

   

Winning the War

     As I mentioned in my last post, I started my time here in Honduras in the book of Joshua.  Through my time in the Word (both in Joshua and in the Psalms), the phrase that has been pressed on my heart is "wait on the Lord."  Reading Joshua, I noticed that every time the people fought a battle after God had told them to fight (and graciously reminded them that he was with them), they won.  Every time the people tried to do fight a battle on their own, they lost.
     Already in my time here, I am tempted to go full speed ahead.  My head is spinning with ideas: putting up theater productions, developing a youth group incorporating YL club-style activities, a book club with our neighbor kids, staff worship/discipleship stuff, etc. etc. etc.  BUT WAIT!  Did the Lord tell me "go"?  Nope, not yet.  I know that.  In fact, the Lord has even forced me to wait in some ways (I'm pretty sure the language barrier is no accident--it's keeping me from going to deep too fast!).  As the locals keep telling me, I have "mucha energia!"  Surprised?
     That said, even though there are many things on hold, there have already been so many simple, sweet moments.  I love playing keep away with the boys, round after round after round of Jungle Speed with Noe and Edward, having to guess who has just put their hands over my eyes, defending myself against the boys' playful jabs, watching/encouraging the boys' mad futbol skills (on the field as well as on the Xbox), futbol and bible study with teenage girls from the community next door, accountability/cooking/working out/special conversations with my lovely roommates.... and so much more.  Truly, every day is a blessing.  It always has been, and it always is (it just takes presently living in the presence of Christ to see it!).

This tiny little frosting fight is nothing compared to the all out
WAR that occurred tonight... More info/pictures to come :)

     Whenever I am able to lose sight of myself and take in my environment, I am reminded of how blessed I truly am!  Though, I'll admit, there are moments where I get ahead of myself; there are moments where I insecurely wonder "do I belong? do I have a place?  am I wanted?"; there are moments when I care more about those around me liking me than I do about them liking Jesus.  Those are the moments where I get in the way.  Those are the moments that I try to fight where the Lord hasn't said "go".  Those are the moments when I lose a battle.  But, I'm reminded that even if I lose some battles, God has already won the war.  Praise be to God that the beauty and majesty of my dear Lord Jesus Christ is victorious.  And I get to see glimpses of his glory each and every day!
     Thank you, Lord, for these boys.  Thank you, Lord, for your grace.  Thank you, Lord, for the beauty that surrounds me.  Thank you, Lord, for my friends and family back home, as well as for those I have here.  Thank you, Lord, for giving me your joy and peace.  Thank you, Lord, for allowing me and those around me to be a part of your body--doing your work for your glory.  Thank you, Lord, for not only redeeming my lost battles but also for winning the war.  Thank you, Lord, for your love.

On the soccer field with my roomski Jessica and some of our kiddos

(That said, feel free to pray for the ideas that are churning... Waitin on that "go" ;)...)

Endings Bring New Beginnings

      The morning of my departure for Honduras, my chapter in life coincided a little too appropriately with the final chapter in my Bible reading.  Deuteronomy 34: The Death of Moses.  Now, don't worry, it wasn't a "this-is-my-death-sentence" foreboding type of message.  Rather, when I read of the Lord showing Moses the promised land he wouldn't be able to set foot in before he passed on, I sensed the Lord was speaking to me about "the promised land" I was leaving behind.  You see, I'd just spent the past two months intentionally visiting and reuniting with loved ones back in the States. As I was surrounded by dear friends in joyful one of the most joyful celebrations of love I'd ever experienced, saying goodbye to my Texas community after Megan and Daniel's wedding was more difficult than I expected.  After parting from my Houston community, I spent some difficult but fruitful time dealing with various unresolved places in my heart that were easy to run away from when I was a thousand miles away.  However, even in the midst of some difficulties, I experienced so much joy reconnecting with my family, watching my sister dominate on her high school volleyball team, reconnecting with MI friends and campers, spending time with my cousins in Ohio, and sharing in the joy of two more beautiful weddings.  After that, though, it was my time to move forward--time to leave "the promised land"--all the beautiful fruit that I saw budding in my friends, family, and community--behind.  Not that my ties back home would now be severed, but those relationships, I knew, would inevitably look different.  But, as this time in the Word reminded me, God is with me (and them) in this transition.  Remembering that the Lord is sovereign, that the Lord is who takes care of our journeys, and how he is the one in charge of the grand story, I was able to end my stay back home covered in the His peace.
     Though my chapter in the States is behind me (for now), a new, extraordinary chapter has begun. Aligning appropriately once again with my Bible reading, the Lord has impressed upon my heart as he did with Joshua, "Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go" (Joshua 1:9).  And you know what?  He has been.  Already I have experienced so much joy, love, and connection here (one of my most consistent prayers before leaving)!  I could spend my time taking this post in so many different directions right now, because my heart is so full of gratitude.  But, for your sake (all you readers who have stuck with me to this point), I will end with just a few highlights of my time thus far:

• Playing LOTS of soccer!  (My favorite is playing keep away with one boy at a time.  If I play an actual game I get a little too distracted... By the time the ball comes my way, my brain is already in la la land)
• Running after Ismael--the boy who loves to steal anything off of me so that I'll chase him down.  He has more energy than me... "Estoy cansada" doesn't fly with him.
• Meeting a few young girls at Villa Olympica (where the boys go for soccer practice).  I got to teach them "Go Fish" (Pesca!), wow them with a card trick, and practice my terrible cartwheels ("estrellas") with them.
• Watching "The Hulk" with the littlest boy here, Noe, sitting beside me and explaining what was happening to me (which wasn't all that helpful since his explanations weren't exactly in my first language...).  Afterwards the boys played their own Hulk, as they pummeled each other, while sitting on top of me... "NO ESTAS EL HULK!  NO ESTAS EL HULK!"
• Movie nights, cooking experiments, Jillian Michaels videos, and lots of laughter with my wonderful roommates!
• UNO, hand slap, SPAZ, and muchos mas juegos with the boys!  Years of camp and babysitting have paid off!
• Practicing Spanish... Aida and Ana, the two cooks, kept trying to explain all the different slang to me... hopefully some stuck... but since they were explaining everything in Spanish there was mostly smiling and nodding going on on my part.
• Playing soccer and learning a dance with the girls from Villa Linda Miller, the neighboring community.  The boys are their soccer "trainers" on Friday nights.  Ismael told me that one of the girls there is his girlfriend ("novia").  I don't think she knows that... Pretty sure that happens all the time.  Hahaha ("jajaja").
• SO MUCH MORE I COULD SAY!  But I'll leave it at this--even as exciting as all of the above is, the best time is my time on the porch early in the morning, as I read, journal, and pray.  There is no way I could experience the love, joy, peace, and fellowship out of an empty tank.  We love because he first loved us.  The Lord loves me, these boys, the staff, everyone back home, and beyond far more than I ever could.  Knowing that He is greater.  Knowing that he is for us and not against us.  Knowing that he loves us... His love is the greatest gift, and wherever I go, whether Texas or Illinois or Michigan or Ohio or Honduras, his love remains constant.  He will never leave me or forsake me.  And because he is with me, I have nothing to fear.
  
  Hasta luego!!!!
  
  Kelsey :)

Flight to New Life

Disclaimer:  As usual, my failure to update this blog stems from the unnecessary burden I've placed on myself to "catch up" on everything that has transpired between entries (a growing problem with each passing moment!).  However, in order to adequately share/process what is forefront on my heart and mind, I am abandoning my self-made expectation to hit all of life's highlights--lessons learned, trials suffered, and joys experienced--to allow my present ponderings to take precedence. Que sera, sera.

Last night I returned from Tegucigalpa, Honduras, where I "worked" alongside my housemates and other incredible friends from First Presbyterian Church with the Micah Project, a thriving organization that takes abandoned boys off the streets and gives them hope, healing, and a family through the transformative love of Christ...

Our "Houstonian" group... give or take a few

From the moment I stepped off the tail end of our plane (airport rules aren't quite so rigid once you leave good ol' Estados Unidos) and smelled the heavily polluted, smoky air, I was confronted with the blaring reality : boy, I am out of place!  Properly positioning my ripping, heavily taped-up purple tote to keep my sunscreen, pistachios, and baseball cap collection from crashing to the ground, being out-of-place was not a new experience for me, but as I walked along with my fellow gringos*, at least this time I wasn't alone in my differences.  While everyone else was picking up their checked luggage, I took advantage of the precious time to refresh my espanol** via sign reading/deciphering.  Not that phrases like "Baggage Check In" and "No Pregnant Women" would come in handy later in the trip, but I felt proactive, nonetheless.

Once we made it through customs (a surprisingly simple task), our group of 12 mostly white-bred Americans were warmly greeted by a Micah Project's huggy, exuberant Honduran teenage boys.  Even with the language barrier, ranges in personality were apparent almost immediately.  Nelson "Nelly," a 16 year old boy wearing stylish purple headphones over his matching snapback hat, put his joshing-with-you love language into practice in our first exchange by convincing me his name was Yeison after I'd already guessed his name correctly (we had their pictures in advance). Victor, a 14 year old boy who'd only been with the group since January, was all smiles and laughter as he grabbed whatever bags of ours he could carry to assist our walk to the van.   Jose Luis, who sat to the left of me during our first van ride, kindly answered my few, grammatically atrocious questions, while Miguel, on my right, teased me from the start.  It had only been 20 minutes, and I was already growing to love these boys in all their differences.

One of our first stops in Tegucigalpa was a beautiful park overlooking the city.  Here, underneath the world-renown largest statue of Jesus, the group's leader Michael Miller told our group some painful realities of their city : number one crime capital in the world, controlled by gangs and drug lords, impoverished and in desperate need for the love and life of Jesus.  It was in this broken, seemingly unreachable city that Michael had chosen to sacrifice his comfortable North American lifestyle to follow God's calling to rescue boys from the trappings of street-living.  Prior to life at Micah, nearly all the boys in the program had been orphaned or abandoned to live on the streets of Tegucigalpa.  Faced with poverty, loneliness, and heartbreak, they along with many others turned to glue bottles and other deadly addictions to escape their pain and suffering.  Micah's mission?  Life from death.  Healing from hurting.  Hope from suffering.  The kind of life transformation that is only possible through Jesus Christ.

Me and Ismael... notice what he's holding.

Throughout our next few days immersed in the Micah life, our motley crew of out-of-place Houstonians*** were able to taste a glimpse into the life transformation this organization sees daily.  We experienced the genuine joy that overflowed from the kids and onto us.  We played lots of soccer.  (I should clarify, the boys played lots of soccer; my participation, in particular, was more of a half walk/half run attempt to touch the ball as often as possible... which wasn't very often).  Throughout the week, the boys rotated playing keep-away with me over my neon yellow cap-sac****.  On one of the days running after Ismael, an especially energetic yet tender-hearted boy, my shin splints and poor judgement on steep terrain abruptly ended our keep away time ***** with an embarrassing face-plant on my part complete with constantly-asked-about battle wounds.  Me cai, okay!?! ME CAI.  (Oops moments are a regular occurrence for me, even in countries apparently).   Wilmer, a good-hearted poke-fun-at-ya older boy, showed off his incredible rapping skills as Anna and I (who were all talk) showed him what we were made of! (I can't speak for Anna, but I can speak for myself : boasting though I might have been, my boots-and-cats beatbox and one line half-rhymes were knowingly mockable).  Julio, kind and generous in a melt-your-heart sort of way, and Manuel, bright and filled with joy, climbed with me to the top of a water tower, and we bonded over an epic paper airplane tossing adventure. (It's by the grace of God that I built one that worked--that sucker FLEW!).  It was incredible watching these kids just being kids, especially after learning about the darkness they'd been redeemed from.

On one of our last days in Honduras, Stephen Kusmer, a 25 year old missionary from Indiana******, led us through the not-as-risky inner workings of downtown.  On one simple walk of only a few blocks radius, our group encountered the brokenness that still chains many marginalized street boys.  As I watched these young teens fixated on their bottles of glue, all I could see were the innocent children trapped behind the numbing, deadly substances at their disposal.  Kids.  Kids caught in a life they didn't sign up for.  I'm not ignoring each child's personal choice to allow the reality of the sin and darkness, but I also know that when living with security of genuine life, joy, and love, drugs of escapism have no real draw.  Moments of these kids' remaining innocence and child-like heart were still able to pierce through the darkness even in our short time together.  Saul, a particularly outgoing character, grabbed me by the hands and danced with me in the town square.  When asked about God, Edgar, an older teen, eagerly showed us his worn-down pocket-sized Gospel of John, the one item he continually carried on his person.

However, paired with the brief moments of life working hard to pierce through the darkness, we not only tasted but gulped the utter death where the path of street-living often leads.  On our way back to our hotel, we came upon a young man who had collapsed, unconscious and unresponsive.  Without food, he'd done nothing but inhale the deadly glue for 3 days. The effects on his body were tangible and heartbreaking.  His skin was hot to the touch and felt hollow, as if water and blood, the very source of life, had somehow escaped his system.  As we prayed over this man and waited for "help" to arrive, my spirit groaned, longing for the Spirit of God to breathe life into his trapped soul.

Watching the young man being driven away, I was reminded that death is a reality.  BUT SO IS LIFE.  And since Christ conquered death, life gets the final word!  Through my time with the Micah Project, I was able to witness a small glimpse into this transformative truth.  Spending the week with over 20 joyful, compassionate, giving, talented, INCREDIBLE boys (young men.  developing leaders.  inspiring examples of Christ) who were headed towards death and given life to the full, has newly opened my eyes to the power of Christ.

Thank you to each and every boy and staff member at Micah.  I could write paragraphs on every single one of you for how you have touched me and the beautiful ways I see Christ in you, but I'll save that for another entry.  I love you all.  Thank you for taking the 12 of us who were seemingly so out of place and inviting us into your Micah family.  Praise be to the Lord Jesus Christ who has made a way for us all to be family forever!*******

*GRINGO-- Honduran slang-term for us white folk.

**REFRESHING MY ESPANOL-- a task that should have been tackled months prior to visiting Central America (as opposed to South America as I had been previously informed/mistaken...) since any skills I acquired in my 6 and a half years of Spanish classes have significantly degenerated.  I will now take the time to apologize to Mrs. Gerrond, Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Belmont, and Professor Agheana. I have failed you.

***HOUSTONIANS--shouldn't technically apply to most of us, since being a Houstonian has very specific connotations such as length of time living in Houston, devotion to the city, etc.  Christen Hood may be the only one to actually fit this categorical people group, but for the sake of identifying us our Houston home-base is our best distinction.

****CAP-SAC-- it's like a fanny pack for your head!!! Now belonging to Ismael--love ya bro! =)

*****ENDED OUR KEEP-AWAY TIME-- not technically... considering a few hours later we had an epic keep-away battle involving a water jug and a swimming pool...  Ismael won.

******FROM INDIANA-- or from the streets of Tegucigalpa, depending on to you talk to at First Pres ;-p. That accent will get ya, won't it Stephen?  Heh.

*******FAMILY FOREVER-- "Yet to all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God..." (John 1:12)