"Life isn't measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away." -Anonymous
Day 1: Playing hide and seek in Spanish...I have been in Honduras for maybe three hours and already my breath escapes me. This feels like a dream. A group of little girls grabbed out hands and led us to this meadow of strange purple flowers. Collecting bouquets as they run and hide, each little girl is a blur of laughter and dark pigtails. The sun beats down on me with the rhythms of foreign, unknown drums and I grin as I tug my hair back into a braid. Suddenly there are little girls at my side pulling me down to the ground and tucking the strange purple flowers into my hair. It doesn't matter the language barrier, love speaks loudly in this moment.
Day 6: Sitting in a hammock on La Playa Grande sipping on an orange Fanta in a glass bottle...All I can see are my sandy feet propped up in the hammock against a background of the Pacific Ocean, Hondurans splashing around in the water, two colorful boats--La Pinta y Santa Maria--anchored near the shore and buoyantly drifting with the waves. The sky is blue with sharp white clouds, and I hear the ocean, the laughter, the sounds of cooking as I close my eyes in this perfection. This is the very definition of paradise.
Day 8: Watching the Gold Cup with the older kids at Casa Hogar...they saved a seat just for me where I can snuggle with Dulce and look over groups of children wrapped up in big blankets at the carefully rigged up TV where Mexico and Honduras are playing fútbol. The kids are excited. Yina yells every chance she gets, her clear voice resounding over the sound of the crowds on TV. Some of the kids doze because it is well past their bedtime. Dulce squeezes my hands and falls asleep in my lap. It doesn't matter that Honduras loses. This is like Christmas for these kids.
Day 11: Waking up to the sound of rain drumming out beats on the red metal roof of our cabaña...The rain stops, though, and we sleepily wander outside only to find two rainbows (arcoirises) stretched out across the sky. The air smells like rain and feels alive. The sounds of a Honduran morning--chickens, children, water, buses--become a faint whisper as the promise of God drowns out all else. You know it's guaranteed to be a good day when...
Day 12: Riding to the YWAM base in Siguatepeque...We pile ourselves and our seven backpacks into the bed of a white Toyota pick up. Definitely not legal in the States but also definitely more fun than just riding inside the truck, we bounce our way to the beautiful base. The wind rips at our hair and spit is whipped from our mouths as we attempt conversation. We laugh for the entire ride, exhilarated by the adventurous nature of it all.
Day 18: Baking funfetti cupcakes with the little girls at Casa Hogar...two boxes of funfetti cake mix, six eggs, 2/3 cup of vegetable oil, three spoons, cherry frosting, two cupcake pans, and one big bowl. The little girls crowd around a table and take turns pouring the various ingredients into the big bowl. With our help, they spoon the batter into the cupcake pans, vehemently licking the sweet batter off their fingers. The cupcakes come out of the oven looking absolutely ridiculous but we hide their imperfections with pink frosting that tastes like cherry Laffy Taffy. The girls each get one and then there are some left over for the little boys. After they devour the pastelitos, they all wander out of their cabin and in their best English, thank us all. Pink crumbs all over their small faces and drips of the cherry frosting on their shirts and dresses, their smiles are ten times sweeter today. As the little boys eat theirs in the sleepy stupor induced by afternoon nap time, one of them, aptly named Angel, curls up in my lap and looks up at me with an innocent smile. My heart swells and I pray that this moment will burn itself in my mind.
Suzy has us lined up at the front of the church as part of some terrifyingly unknown ritual: Amy, Carolyn, Mary, Adam, me, Jenny, Maddie, Karina. The 63 children of Casa Hogar sit in front of us, but as Suzy says something in Spanish, they all jump up and run to us, a fearsome wave of excitement. Suddenly, we are surrounded by hugs. I look into the precious faces of each darling brother and sister, trying desperately to remember each name in the chaos of the moment. One of the older boys who has autism, Elias, grabs me and pulls me down to ground along with two little girls who are hanging tightly onto me. A purple flower blossoms on my knee just under the skin and pain makes me bite my lip. Seconds later, though, I'm on my feet with a fresh wave of children hugging my waist. The moment is gone too fast and Pahola is tugging at my hand, longing to go outside. I follow, but look wistfully back for a moment wishing to return to the hugs so I could pause life there for just a little longer. But I don't look back for long. There are more moments that will take my breath away awaiting me.
After a three hour delay in Houston, I am sitting in a mostly empty plane destined for home. Out of my window, dark clouds flash incessantly with bolts of lightning. Behind me is the most beautiful sunset I've ever seen, but looking down on this darkly daunting thunderstorm, I might cry. "All My Fountains" comes on my iPod and I remind God of my "yes", I remind Him that I will follow Him anywhere. For now, though, in this moment, this is exactly where I'm supposed to be. I don't know that before this moment I've ever truly fathomed what God's beauty must be like. But here I am. Another flash of lightning reveals a hole in the clouded sky. I remember the faces of my 63 brothers and sisters in Honduras. God is
beautiful. God makes
beautiful things.
