The Best Hug Ever

Yesterday, my team made our first trip out to Casa Hogar. I nervously chewed on my lip for the entire 45 minute ride past wooden shacks that leaned in ways they were supposed to, past men riding horses, past views of the mountains cloaked in clouds that surpass all words. I think I was mostly nervous that the kids wouldn't remember me. When our busito finally approached the chapel at Casa Hogar, several kids were hurrying into the church wearing red in honor of Pentecost (the red represents the tongues of fire that settled on the believers when the Holy Spirit filled them in Acts 2). The chapel's bell rang out over the rocky terrain and signaled us to join the children's hustle. I probably should have been more astonished or emotional when I walked in the door of the chapel and saw all the kids from last summer gathered together. I wasn't. I calmly walked over to the group of little girls, with whom I spent a lot of time last year. It was touching to catch their eyes and have them smile at me in recognition. I almost instantly found myself trying to keep one of the girls, Yareli, from playing with her tambourine while Suzy was at the front of the chapel leading everyone in prayer. It was as though I'd never left. 

It wasn't until Suzy called everyone's attention to the North Americans randomly sitting among them that the gravity of returning to Casa Hogar hit me. And because God has a great sense of humor, it hit me via Fernando, one of the younger boys that I seemed to be most at odds with last year. He calmly walked over to me and gave me the best hug ever. Just the way his arms wrapped around me, refusing to let go for several minutes and without saying a word...that was the moment. 

I couldn't put my finger on it. All day long I tried to decipher why that moment was so instantaneously meaningful for me, why I thought I would cry and laugh all at once while sitting in that church service. I've since realized Fernando has become the face of why I want to spend the rest of my life serving God and people. His hug brought back all the memories from last summer of him acting out, taunting me, and leaving me in absolute exhaustion. I thought about all the prayers I'd said about him and for him. Everything came back in his hug. For me, it's not the people who are easy to love that make this life worthwhile. It's the challenging ones, the ones that make you want to pull out your hair one second and then are sweetly tugging at your hand the next. Fernando has become a representation of that for me. I don't think I can say he's fully healed or that my three weeks with him last summer helped him in any significant way. But the love and connection I feel with him because of our struggles together have helped me. They have scarred me and healed me. They have given me purpose.

I worry about Fernando. He comes from a background of neglect and abuse that is hard to recover from. I desperately want him to grow up feeling nothing but safety and love from here on out. I also worry about whether I'll even be able to make a difference in lives like his. No matter the outcomes, I am utterly thankful for the chance to be a small part of Fernando's life and to love him.

"Therefore, we who have fled to him for refuge can take new courage, for we can hold on to his promise with confidence. This confidence is like a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls. It leads us through the curtain of heaven into God's inner sanctuary." Hebrews 6:18-19

Peace of Me

Several white balloons made their way from the crowd gathered on the dirt soccer field up into the sky. It wasn't really picturesque. They didn't have long, curling ribbons attached to them. The sky wasn't blue but filled with bland white clouds, and so the balloons couldn't stand out in contrast. No one stared up at them, watching them float away with hopes that the violence would leave Flor del Campo with them. Well, I guess no one except for me.

This morning, there was a peace march in Flor. My team joined the students from El Cordero, LAMB's school in Flor, the children from Casa Hogar, LAMB's children's home, youth and leaders from the Alonzo Movement, and probably hundreds of other people from Flor (I'm not good with estimating numbers so don't quote me on that) in a walk around the community. I tend not to be a very political person. I have very strong opinions about very specific issues, and I have yet to learn about a politician or political party that stands for all that I value. Honduras, however, is a very political country. Most of the graffiti I've seen in Tegus is political, expressing the need for peace, liberty, less violence, justice. When we went to El Picacho nearly a week ago, two men were fervently praying in the zen garden under the shadow of Jesus the Healer (Cristo Picacho). The phrase I kept hearing them repeat was "Señor, danos la libertad!" (God, give us liberty!) Demonstrations like this peace march are also apparently common. I remember seeing several last year when I was here, outside of judicial buildings or just along streets.

For the march, we North Americans painted hearts and butterflies on the children's faces. At some point, someone handed us signs to carry, and we joined the ranks of uniformed students bearing banners. My sign had a picture of a gun on it underneath the word "NO"; I carried it dutifully. Some of the students' signs featured Bible verses, doves, anything related to peace really. It was so much, my five senses could barely take it all in, and I ended up with a headache from trying too hard to capture everything with my mind. I was torn between reveling in being part of it and just wanting to watch it happen from a nearby balcony. A piece of me was watching carefully over my team, mentally counting all eleven as we walked the perimeter of Flor. Another piece of me was distracted by the kids from Casa Hogar. Most of the older ones remembered me from last year, and I desperately wished I could just sit down and talk with them. Some of the younger kids kept giving me funny looks, clearly recognizing me but not entirely sure from where. I wondered how each of them had changed in the past year. A piece of me also over-analyzed the idea of peace: what it looks like for the Hondurans, what it looks like for me, how impossible peace can feel in such a violent place, how possible peace is wherever God is. And a final piece of me just really enjoyed the entire ordeal. It was fun. I've never done anything like it before unless you count cheering in a St. Patrick's Day parade when I was 5 (which I don't).

I can't help thinking back to the speech I heard last Wednesday at the El Cordero school. The principal kept telling the children that theirs is the one voice God can't resist. I hope that that holds true today. I sincerely hope that peace finds its way into the dirt soccer field, into the homes that sometimes have running water, into the steep, rocky streets, into the hearts and lives of the people of Flor del Campo. I hope the Alonzo Movement has such a lasting and rippling effect that one day there will be no need to have a program for at-risk youth.

Underneath my fingernails is dried red paint from painting hearts on children's faces. It's eerie. It looks like blood. I don't like it. I've tried to wash it out, but I think it's just going to take time. Maybe that's meaningful, metaphorical, as if I am causing violence of my own that needs to be purged. Maybe, like the white balloons, it just feels symbolic. The white balloons marked the end of our marching, the end of our singing, the end of our chanting. Deep down, I hoped that they were capable of taking the violence with them. Deep down, I hoped that they symbolized release, freedom, and absolution.




"I pray that God, the source of hope, will fill you completely with joy and peace because you trust in him. Then you will overflow with confident hope through the power of the Holy Spirit." Romans 15:13

http://www.elheraldo.hn/Secciones-Principales/Metro/Ninos-y-jovenes-de-la-Flor-del-Campo-marchan-por-la-paz#panel1-4

A Poem from Tegus: "The Voice God Can't Resist"

"The Voice God Can't Resist"

Te pido la paz para mi ciudad. Te pido perdón por mi ciudad. Ahora me humillo y busco tu rostro. A quién iré Señor si no a ti?

Morning dawns over Flor del Campo
And students gather in a concrete soccer field
Overlooking their neighborhood, their homes, their families.
Their voices alone are small--like them.
But they join together.
Painfully beautiful, the violence is real for them,
So is the peace ,though, the new start.

Children equated with innocence
Take blame upon themselves
And with bold lack of reticence,
Cry to God for peace in a violent city.

Twilight takes hold of the world outside the fence
And florescent lights allow the soccer game to press on.
The game is light-hearted, betraying the deep seriousness
That sat heavily on the participants and observers just minutes prior.
Thoughts of "Qué es la paz?" blurred as sweat rolled down faces
And the game rose in intensity.
The divide between the opportunistic norteamericanas
And the hondureños that have been seared by scenes of violence
Becomes impossible to decipher as soccer begins to dominate.

The world outside becomes dark
Save for scattered stars made by streetlights.
Inside the soccer court, the boys become sparks
And the darkness starts to tremble.

For daily updates on our adventures, check out our group blog: http://blogs.cofc.edu/honorshonduras/blog/

When Gringas Play Soccer...

Buenas noches from Tegus! So just as a forewarning, I'm super hyped up on adrenaline right now, which will explain the excessive explanation marks to come.

It's day three in Honduras, and it finally feels official that I'm back! This year is a completely different experience in spite of the facts that I'm working with the same organization, that I'm here for the same amount of time, and that it's Honduras. I'm here with a group of students (plus two faculty members) from College of Charleston. We're working with the Alonzo Movement, and so far we've spent the majority of our time meeting with various program directors, playing soccer (badly), and awkwardly trying to connect with the youth that come to the program. We'd spent so much time in our class learning about the Honduran education system, the organization (LAMB), strategic planning, and other sometimes seemingly unconnected things. And we're finally here seeing how it all comes together.

Today has been indescribably awesome.
We spent the evening at the Alonzo Movement. The group of guys tonight were all around our age, which made us very apprehensive. It also made us all wear long pants instead of shorts. The man who directed tonight's group was fabulous, though. His name is Gabriel, and he runs the microfinance program that is part of LAMB. He might be the most dynamic person I've ever met! He got us gringas all warmed up for the evening by teaching us some basic soccer skills. That's right. We're awful at soccer. I know it's surprising. It made us more comfortable, and it also allowed the guys who arrived early to laugh at us a little. I overheard several comments about how bad the girl in the black sneakers and soccer jersey was. One guess who that was. (Hint hint: ME.) But once the program really got started for the evening, we integrated fairly well--singing songs, playing games, listening intently to a story about princes and princesses who learned to value other people.

Then it was time to play soccer. Gabriel arranged us into teams of two gringas and two Honduran guys. I was with a girl named Hannah, a guy named Hector, and a guy whose name he kept mumbling so Hannah and I nicknamed him Prince. They were great sports. We were obviously awful, but they continued to pass us the ball and let us pretend like we knew what we were doing. In a very awesome and probably God-sent moment, the goal my team was shooting on was wide open. The goalie just disappeared. And so I very timidly kicked the ball into the goal. AND SCORED. I scored a goal! High fives from Hector, Prince, and Hannah...and we were at it again. I think Hector scored a couple times, and then Hannah made an awesome headshot that didn't really do much. But then Hannah scored a goal! We were on fire. My head was throbbing and my heart felt swollen in my chest from running up and down the field, which is actually a paved court surrounded by a wire fence and situated on the top floor of the school. I was ready to quit, and I don't think I was seeing straight anymore. And in the single most awesome moment of my life, I leapt over one of the guys who had fallen down trying to defend me, dribbled the ball towards the goal, and took a shot on goal just as I collided with the youngest and smallest kid there. Yeahhh, I completely demolished that 8 year old. With no shame. But I scored another goal! And didn't even realize I had made a shot on goal. It was the best feeling. All the moment needed was a slow clap

On a more serious note, though, being somewhat competent at soccer, even if it was unintentional, ended up being very beneficial for the work we are trying to do in Flor del Campo, the neighborhood where LAMB and the Alonzo Movement are based. It  allowed me to chat with the guys on my team. Hector was especially candid. I found out that he's 17 years old and is going to the public university in Tegus. He talked with Hannah and me about our studies and we got to hear a little about his life. It was great! (especially when he raised his eyebrows and asked us if we were on Facebook. Ha.) He was this very good looking guy, clean and seemingly well put together as most Hondurans are, athletic, and probably very smart. How can he be an at-risk youth? It just doesn't seem possible! But the fact that we were in the context of a 100% safe place and that he was allowed the uninterrupted play of a regular teenage boy changes things. I wish I could be a fly on his shoulder as he lives his day to day life just to see what he's like in the company of other people and other situations. Maybe I'm biased because he was such an awesome teammate (we definitely won the mini-tourney), but his seemed like a success story of the Alonzo Movement and of the power of youth in Flor del Campo.

On that note, we spent this morning at LAMB's school in Flor. The children have a devotional every Wednesday, and we had the honor of attending. It was predictable at first--complete with goofy songs and motions, a Bible lesson, and a little skit. But then, the children learned a new song. The song asked God for peace in Flor del Campo and for forgiveness for the sins of the city. Please imagine for just a moment about 180 children in quaint school uniforms lifting their voices out over their city, which is known for violence and gangs, and standing up for themselves. It was beautiful in a painful way. Their principal spoke after their song, delivering the single most powerful pep talk I've ever heard. She told them that there could be peace in Flor if they would pray to God for it collectively. She was direct and explicit, saying that she knows what happens in Flor--fathers hitting mothers, children being abused, people being shot or robbed in the streets. She said that if they joined together in one voice that it could all end because theirs is the one voice that God cannot resist. She reminded the children of the story of Jesus telling the disciples to let the little children come to him and how they are el reino del cielo (the kingdom of heaven). There was so much power and hope in that moment. I saw the vision that the LAMB staff must see: peace in what once was one of the most dangerous colonias in Honduras because of the difference the children at the school and the youth in the Alonzo Movement can make in their community. It was chilling. The children's faces reacted when what she said hit home. I wondered all day how there could be hope there, how the children could even believe her, how boys like Hector could thrive in the crazy educational system to such an extent that he is now in college, how any place in that gang-filled place could be so safe.

I think the only reasonable answer is that God is there.

The Things I Carried

Do you know that moment when you think you’re  completely packed up and ready to move out only to discover an entire cabinet or drawer that you neglected? Usually, there’s nothing too important in it. The important things get packed up right away, checked and double checked. But I think the leftover things in that last cabinet or drawer are important in their own telling way...

Last week, this is what I found:

A can of Orange Fanta: Coming into this year, I would have told you that was my favorite soda. It contains no caffeine, but it is bursting with bubbly orange sugar. I discovered it years ago. Now, though, I have this obsession with Dr. Pepper Ten. I know, I know...it’s not for women. Whatever. DP10 got me through my fiction writing class during the first half of this semester...the days when I left my room at 9:15 and went from class to work to the Children’s Museum to class to Bonner meetings, lucky to be back home by 9:30 to start my homework for the next day. On top of that, fiction writing was a hard class. My professor challenged me in so many ways, and after hearing him bark out my last name frequently in my twice a week, three hour long class, I was weary. At the end of the class, I actually cranked out a halfway decent short story and had a bonding moment with my professor where we realized we were both believers. He had a lot of good advice for this young, aspiring writer. Was it worth the stress and exhaustion? Probably. But I think Dr. Pepper Ten will forever taste like the sound of my name being barked at me.

Partners in Crime

A bottle of green spray paint: In perhaps one of my most unique and creative Halloween costumes ever, I used the spray paint to make a Psych t-shirt. Inspired by the “American Duos” episode of my favorite television show, my roommate and I were Gus as Michael Jackson and Shawn as Kurt Smith of Tears for Fears, respectively. It was so complicated to explain to people, but the looks on the faces of the people who follow the show were priceless. The costume was fairly accurate in describing our friendship, too. Like Shawn and Gus, we do our share of ear flicking and driving each other crazy, But in the midst of the INSANE  year we both had, it was good to have a partner in crime willing to make banana pancakes in the shape of the Millennium Falcon and make life seem just a little sunnier. We spent our last night together on Sullivan’s Island, just watching the right angled light beams from the lighthouse pan overhead and talking about all the adventures we’d had--the good, the bad, and the incredibly ugly. We’re going to be roommates again next year. It’s going to be awesome.

A jar of apple butter: From the Mennonites of Abbeville, SC--it’s amazing. Seriously. The only ingredients in it are apples and spices, no sweeteners and no preservatives. I appreciate that. It was a perfect discovery from last summer, since dairy was no longer a dietary option after my trip to Honduras and I needed to find new breakfast foods I could eat. Spread some Mennonite apple butter on a couple slices of toast in the morning and life was very sweet. Even more, I appreciate that my grandparents are the ones who supply the apple-y goodness. They were my rock of stability in the midst of moving around a lot growing up: they were always in Greenwood, in the same house with the same huge tree in the backyard with the same unending love just when I needed it. They are both amazing people.

A bar of soap: It was still in its little box, just waiting to be used. The soap seemed insignificant until I recently found a list of all the random things I wanted to do this school year that I typed up on my iPad back last summer when it was brand new. This list included everything from “Cook supper for one person at least once a week” to “Sing in the shower frequently, but don’t feel obligated to shower every day.” (The latter is my explanation for not finishing off my soap supply for the year.) Why would I make it a goal to shower less? I blame it mostly on my trip to Honduras. While there, we had (if lucky) an hour of “running water” each morning. That didn’t translate into a hot, comfortable shower...it meant a trickle of cold water that couldn’t really get all the shampoo out of your hair. It made me more aware of the massive amount of water Americans use daily. We really take our clean, seemingly unlimited access to water for granted. So in an effort to be a better steward of the water I’ve been blessed with, I spent this past year taking shorter and fewer showers. For my information, see Water Missions International's website. I’m quite smitten with their organization.

A bottle of pure maple syrup: Half-used and left over from some sweet potato souffle, it was a remnant of my goal to cook for others. I knew I liked to cook, particularly for other people, but I mostly put this goal out of my mind once life got crazy (basically day 1). I was lucky if I got to cook for myself, much less anyone else. About halfway through fall semester, though, I grew very uneasy with the way I was doing life. Still without remembering this idea that I should cook weekly for other people, I decided to start, with Courtney’s help, cooking one meal a week for the people on our hall. I sought organic community, and what’s more organic than the people I live with? This easily became the most rewarding and exciting part of my week. Courtney and I tried out great recipes, made great friends, and created a home for ourselves and others in Rutledge 407. I didn’t even realize I had accidentally fulfilled one of my goals until a couple days ago. Crazy. Perhaps the saddest part of the year ending has been realizing that even when we go back in the fall, it won’t be the same. Next year, we’ll live with an entirely different crew...I guess that’s both saddening and exciting.

That’s it. The last year in five random household items that were almost abandoned when I moved out. It’s too simplistic. It’s much too final. But there it is.