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)