Old Friend

Today I got to sit down with one of my oldest and best friends. We went to eat and sat and talked for a long time. It's nice being able to talk to her about everything. It's interesting how some of our problems are still the same ones that we had many years ago, and some are the exact same battles that we are fighting today. It's a special time to get to fellowship with her. I think this is a small glimpse of how God wants us to fellowship with Him. A mere shadow of the relationship that He wants us to have with Him. It's a beautiful thing.

Please join me in praying for Central America. The tropical storm has effected many people and destroyed many homes.

I miss...

I miss walking all through town to buy food or anything else we needed.

I miss passing more bicycles on the streets than cars.

I miss the world where the only internet people use is at an internet cafe.

I miss washing clothes by hand outside when it's hot. ((Please, don't asking me why))

I miss going to the park every night as a social activity. 

I miss spending all day with the family. 

I miss the family values that were held by the people.

I miss getting on the crowded buses to go shopping every couple of weeks.

I miss food cooked over a fire.

I don't miss the outhouse that usually had a skunk in it at night.

I don't miss the cockroaches.

I don't miss the days when the water would leave.

I don't miss the tremendous amount of mud from the rain.

I don't miss the streets filled with rocks that ruined shoes in a week.

I don't miss the outrageous heat.

I don't miss getting pushed while fighting for a place in line to get on the bus.

I don't miss trying to pass between countries and the expensive fees for Americans.

I don't miss walking somewhere with a guy who decided to urinate wherever he pleased.

I don't miss restrooms where you had to pay to use them.

I don't miss having no electricity.

This Week

Today I watched Dear John.
I'm feeling melancholy as I think about the past year.
Outside my window I see darkness.
Something that's inspired me recently is my sister.
The prayer of my heart this week is that God would mold me into the me that He created me to be.
I am creating an awesome scrapbook of my wedding, although at this point most of my creative "awesomeness" is still in my head and not actually on paper.
I am reading Revolution In World Missions.
I am thinking about betrayal. 
A spiritual lesson I'm learning is how important it is to spend time with God daily and allow Him to direct my marriage. Sometimes I feel like my life is being burned by fire, but then I think of The Crucible, a play that I read in high school and how God is refining my life and my marriage through the trials, making us stronger. He is giving me an opportunity to grow and to cast off the impurities. 
My goal for next week is to improve my prayer life. I want to start praying at all times and in all situations, not just when I feel I need God's help.

Prayer is Powerful

When I was volunteering full time at an orphanage in Honduras, we had thirteen toddlers and three babies. It is a permanent home for the children, because they are considered non-adoptable. Many times their were up to twenty children because of the single mom's ministry that the missionaries were also doing in their home. With just a few workers at a time, any "normal" activity proved to be eventful, sometimes more than other times.

I remember when Jefferson, whom we called "Chele", fell down the stairs. He fell twelve feet and landed on his head, because he was trying to run from the "tia" who was taking care of him. At the time, the stairs were some-what open. The rule was that someone had to hold the little children's hands when they were going down the stairs. Well, this particular morning Chele was feeling very mischievous. He was running from the tia that was taking care of him, with the biggest grin on his face. That was the last thing I saw before he fell down the flight of stairs. His big, goofy, mischievous grin. He landed on his head. When he was picked up at the bottom of the stairs, he wasn't breathing. We called Papá, the missionary who is considered the father of the family, and he picked the child up and tried to give him mouth to mouth. No change. We thought he was going to die, but God had a bigger purpose in mind for Chele's life. David, the missionary's son, fell to his knees and began to pray. We all started crying and praying. Mamá was praying upstairs calling out to the Lord. Papá took Chele to the hospital, meanwhile we had all the toddlers praying as well. They knew something was wrong with their brother and they wanted to help him, so they started praying too. We found out from Papá that on the twenty minute drive to the hospital that Chele turned blue and purple and wasn't breathing. His heart seemed to stop, but somehow he made it to the hospital alive and started breathing again. The took several tests and their was no internal trauma or even a bump on his head. A miracle. Chele was fine. He was alright. He was welcomed home by all his little brothers and sisters kissing his "boo boo" and giving him hugs.

It's interesting that Chele wasn't breathing until about the time that the little children began to pray. I think kids can make all the difference. They are so pure of heart. Children are so beautiful. 

Outhouse Fun

This is a outside a house that I rented in Nicaragua for a little over two months. In the background you can see my outhouse. Trust me, you don't want to see it up close and personal. Today I was thinking about all the interesting situations with outhouses that I've lived through. In Central America they vary from being a hole in the ground, a little pipe sticking up in the ground, to a concrete whole that actually looks like a toilet and is much more comfortable. Well, when I first moved into this little house, I was amazed that the outhouse didn't smell. I found out at night that it was crawling with cockroaches. My boyfriend at the time (who's now my husband) said that we should try to get them out by spraying them with spray. My husband is from Nicaragua, but I don't think he had personally ever dealt with a cockroach problem. They either leave them alone or they don't have them. So he sprayed the outhouse. Well, about fifteen minutes later hundreds of cockroaches come running out and heading for our house. Our house filled with cockroaches in a record amount of time and my husband and I along with three of his little brothers were trying to kill them as quickly as possible. The neighbor's chickens came over and were eating the ones outside as they tried to crawl to safety. There were cockroaches EVERYWHERE. I didn't know so many could possibly live in such a small hole in the ground. I could not use the outhouse for several days because they kept coming up from the bottom and were constantly trying to make their way toward "safety". It was disgusting. I'm not sure if there's a right way to try to get cockroaches out, but this was disgusting and I don't plan on trying it again.

On New Years Eve, we were waiting for the festivities to begin in a small town in Nicaragua at this same house. I saw a skunk in the bushes and Moi (my husband, then my boyfriend) chased him away with his little brothers. About thirty minutes later I had to go to the bathroom. I was afraid because I told Moi that the skunk could be in there. He told me that it wasn't and so I went to the outhouse to do my business. Well, I opened the door and guess who was staring at me, none other than the skunk. We left to go to the bathroom at his sister's house, because I didn't want anyone to get sprayed by the skunk. We came back an hour later, and the skunk was still in the bathroom. For two weeks the skunk visited and lived in our outhouse almost every night. I seemed to be the one that always found him and the left running for the house. I was so scared the skunk was going to spray me! Anyway, I ended up always waking up someone in the middle of the night to have them check the outhouse for skunks for the next several weeks. We ended up living the outhouse door open at night since the skunk could get in anyway, so that it would be easier to check on without getting too close to the skunk. It was an adventure that I would rather not repeat.

I remember Copan

I remember going to language school in Copan Ruinas, Honduras. I wanted to learn as much Spanish as possible before I started teaching English at a school in San Marcos de Colón, Honduras later that year. I was to spend one month learning a new language. That was a challenge that has stretched me out and changed me forever.

I stayed with a middle class Honduran family. I was given my own room, bathroom, bed, a fan, and a very small desk. I remember that I bonded more with the dog of the family than with the family itself. I was so scared of being wrong, that when I was asked a question, if I didn't know every  s i n g l e  word in the answer to the question, I wouldn't even attempt to answer. I was so timid and afraid. I spent a month taking private Spanish lessons for four hours a day and living with a native family. I soaked up a lot of grammar and a lot of words, but I was too afraid to practice most of it. I finally really started to practice the next year when I was working with kids... Kids gave me the perfect people to practice with... The perfect way to learn.

Culturally, there were many differences between us. They used to talk about me regularly at the dinner table. I was so offended that they would talk about me while I was sitting there, as if I could not understand a word they said. It wasn't until I had lived many months in the country itself, that I realized it was a huge cultural difference. If I was standing somewhere with Lidia and Juanita. It was normal for Lidia to say to me, "Don't you think Juanita's skirt is cute?" and I would answer, "Yes, I love Juanita's skirt!" It was  n o r m a l  to complement or talk about someone why they were present without directly complimenting them. I wish someone had told me this in the beginning! I felt so awful because they were talking about me openly while I was present. Silly me.

They ate with their hands, using tortillas to scoop food. The only foods they bothered to give me a fork and a knife were foods that I was accustomed to eating without said utensils... like fried chicken... and quesadillas. It's funny that now I eat with my hands after so much time living there. The food tastes so much better this way. (By food I mean beans and rice among other things).

I remember that when I learning the conditional in Spanish school that when I was asked what I would do with a million dollars, I replied, "Comería los niños pobres" which means I would eat the poor children. What I meant to say was that I would give food to the poor children, but it did not come out that way. The teacher didn't laugh. She just started at me. I realized my own mistake, and was so embarrassed. I wish she would have laughed at me. Now, I have a husband from Nicaragua and when he makes mistakes, I laugh. Sometimes I make him feel bad without meaning to, but I do not want his mistakes to just be ignored like mine were. I guess in teaching so much English, I've realized that not everyone learns better this way... but I hated when my mistakes were ignored. How was I ever going to learn a new language if no one would correct me? I remember being so frustrated with my teacher.

I remember central park and the ruins were beautiful. I remember making friends with Catholic missionaries from Ohio. I remember that my best friend at the time was from Belgium. I remember that I met a guy from Germany and a woman from Argentina. I remember my friends and the adventures that we had. I remember so much about my first month in Honduras. I hope to go back to Copan someday.

No Hot Water

I feel like I'm in Honduras or Nicaragua again. The gas bill didn't get paid this month by accident, and now there is no hot water. It's freezing! At least in Central America it is always hot outside, which kind of off-sets the cold water. Here, in an air conditioned house, it really does not feel so good. It should be back tomorrow sometime. Hopefully sooner rather than later.

Do you every wonder if everything really happens for a reason? If there is, in fact, a purpose in the pain? Do you ever sit and think that you have made a big mistake with your life?

I do.

After graduating high school, I went to be a missionary in a foreign land. I taught school, and I fell in love with the people of Honduras. Three years later, I'm stuck. I have 14 hours of college credit under my belt, and 3 years of missionary work behind me, but I let people make me feel like I am nothing. I never graduated college. I have only had one real paying job here in the states. All I have is my volunteer work, which has taught me not to love Earthly things. Is that wrong? Why do I feel so inferior here in the United States of America? Why do I feel like I am stupid, even though I graduated with a 3.89 g.p.a.? I could have finished college. I plan to start again next fall. But will that make me feel good enough? I doubt it. I need to face my decisions, and learn to have peace with what I've done with my life. I plan to continue mission work after I raise enough money to put a house in Central America, but until then am I just supposed to accept that I'm mediocre? That all I can get is a minimum wage job even though I am bilingual?

I get so down on myself sometimes, I forget to believe that God made me unique and that I took such joy in my work down in Central America. I forget the reasons I left home in the first place. I forget to be my own person and let the judgement of the world fall down upon me. I forget to look into the eyes of Jesus and see His love and grace. I forget... but then I remember.