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. 

1,000 Ways (for Your Summer Plans) to Die

God and I have this little joke these days regarding my summers. It goes something like this: I apply for only one program and tell God to call me there. I explain to Him that the program fits in perfectly with the plan He has for me and even makes His job of planning my future really easy. Months later, He tells me that He is not calling me to follow my plans, and I get a nice little rejection letter from my program of choice. I'm upset--not at Him but at myself--for awhile before I get back up, accept that He has something even better planned for me that He planned out without my feeble attempts to help, and look around like a newly born giraffe for options.

I feel like my promise to go wherever God calls me has become a punch line in my life. I make that promise to God and then inform Him where He's calling me. Then I have to make the promise all over again without attaching any strings. God, I will go wherever You call me...seriously, wherever.

Last year, it was SummerSalt. I prayed that God would call me there, and when He didn't, I ended up in Honduras. (See for how God not only did incredible things last summer in Honduras but is also continuing to use me to serve His people in Honduras.)

This year, it was the Critical Language Scholarship. I applied to study Hindi in Jaipur, India, through a fully government funded program for the entire summer. What could be better than God using the U.S. government to fund a future missionary's studies? Well, apparently something. I don't know what, but there is something better awaiting me. Anyway, I got my rejection email and just didn't understand. I told God that He'd missed His opportunity, that I'd made it so easy for Him and He had let my plans fall flat. Ha. My plans always fall flat. Thank goodness!

My college Sunday School class used to go through passages in the New Testament, always asking three different questions: What does this tell us about God? What does this tell us about Jesus? What does this tell us about the disciples? We usually answered the last question with something along the lines of, "They're dumb." Yes, the disciples had some serious dumb moments. They were walking alongside Jesus and following Him on such a literal level that I often find myself jealous of their position. But they were also human. And as humans, we do dumb things. If you want to argue this statement, let me direct you to that television show "1000 Ways to Die." It so gruesomely screams examples of dumb humans. Seriously, what were they thinking?

Seriously, what was I thinking?

I spent two days after picking myself back up completely set on India. I was going to India, darn it, and I would do something even more incredible. My dad and I had a little reality check moment, though, where I realized options were good. I was so open to options that I even considered applying for a SURF grant in biology to do experiments this summer. The way I saw it, I could be a light shining anywhere and I might as well try something completely new while I was at it. I'm just not very good at shades if gray...there's really no in-between for me. Since I really needed to find an in-between as far as no options versus infinite options go, I settled on applying again to work at a summer camp while also pursuing another route to India.

Camp Longridge: a Christian summer camp for older kids and youth where I would spend a full, intense summer living with and pouring into the campers.

India: an enormous country that has fascinated me for quite some time now where I could do anything a missionary could hook me up with...and maybe then some.

And don't forget to do good and share with those in need. These are the sacrifices that please God. Hebrews 13:16

Because I want to do good and share with those in need, I applied for Camp Longridge and requested help from a former Journeyman in India. In the craziest, fastest turn of events I have ever experienced, I got my application and three references in to the good people at Camp Longridge and got the email address of a young missionary in India. Before I knew it, I had an interview with Longridge and had sent an email to this young career M...

...

Sorry. I promise I'm not building suspense just for you. It's for me, too. I don't know how this one ends, yet. Everything happened so quickly once I got the ball rolling, but now I'm waiting. Waiting...and praying...and waiting...and reading Not for Sale...and writing blogposts...and waiting.

And I'm enjoying God's little punch line for the second time regarding my summers: 

"My thoughts are completely different from yours," says the LORD. "And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. For just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:8-9

So now regarding the title of this post: "1,000 Ways for (Your Summer Plans) to Die." Just make 1,000 of your own plans and tell God what they are. Yeah. It'll go over really well.

TO BE CONTINUED.

I'm Going to Honduras...Again!

Good things come to those who eavesdrop.


Ok maybe not. But I did learn in my Fiction Writing class that Wikipedia, staring, and eavesdropping are three best friends for writers (I also learned that creativity arrives through discipline and that I know nothing). Usually when I eavesdrop, I hear random college chatter that doesn't mean much to me. But over 6 months ago I overheard some seriously important information...I was gathered around a bonfire on Seabrook Island with several of my fellow Bonners and our director. As smoke bit at my eyes, I heard something like this:

Yeah, we're going to try to do two Maymester trips this year. One will be to wherever the student leaders choose and the other is going to Honduras. 

How do you already know that one is going to Honduras? 

Dr. Folds-Bennett and Mary Pat are planning that one. Dr. Folds-Bennett has worked with an organization in Honduras before so they'll be working with that NGO. 

Is there a student trip leader for that one yet?

The last question was actually mine. It was one of those moments where your voice speaks without your permission. But I managed to insert myself into the conversation just long enough to hear all the details that had been established so far before I raced up the dark path to the cabins where we were staying. I grabbed my cell phone off my bed and immediately called my parents. If there was an opportunity to go back and work with LAMB (the organization Dr. Folds-Bennett has experience with and the very one I spent three weeks with last summer), I wanted to jump on it fast. I remember standing on the porch of my cabin in the sticky evening air, pacing up and down as I related the details to both my mom and my dad.


What has now become "Honors in Honduras," was once just an idea of a new model where the Center for Civic Engagement pairs up with the Honors College at College of Charleston. Why Honduras? Simply for the reason that Dr. Folds-Bennett (henceforth known as "TFB") had connections there.


I didn't actually agree to be the student leader until I was on the Alternative Break trip leaders retreat. Everyone paired up for spring break trips and the other maymester, and it was apparent to everyone except me that I would be the student leader for the Honduras trip. I may have just agreed by default. I wasn't sure I wanted to go back to Honduras because it was such a hard trip for me, but I certainly didn't want to pass up an incredible opportunity just because my last trip there wasn't bump-free.


So last Wednesday we had our first class...
It was such a strange feeling to sit in a circle (it was more of a rectangle really) and discuss Latin American history and U.S. foreign policy with TFB, Mary Pat, and the other eight students going on the trip with me. All eight students had been through an application and interview process, where the most we could tell them about what we'd be doing in Honduras was that we were waiting for the team at LAMB to decide for us. We were trying to live the asset-based community development model...this is a hard thing to do when you're trying to plan both a class and a three week trip.


After finalizing our team, we started having weekly meetings to discuss fundraisers, practice Spanish conversation, talk about the alt break components (drug- and alcohol-free, diversity, education, orientation, training, reflection, reorientation, strong direct service), and prepare for an intense honors course in community-based research where we would learn the ins and outs of NGOs, program management, Honduran politics, capacity building for projects, and asset-based community development. Eventually, we will put together an entire project to execute while in Honduras working with LAMB based on what they tell us is their area of need.


That's a lot of technical words, I realize.


All of this is to say that since August, this idea has been unfolding, and now it's happening. It's exciting. It's terrifying (I'm taking eight girls to Honduras for three weeks?!?). It's oddly surreal.

I think about the time I had getting to Honduras last year. It was so last minute and there were so many weeks where I just really didn't know if I was going to be able to go. I took a lot of blind steps, and God showed up in awesome ways to get me there. And now I have the opportunity to go back and to take other CofC students--some who are believers and others who aren't--to this place where God is so real. Again, it's surreal. And I am honored to be a part of it all.

Get Busy Living AND Get Busy Dying??

Their faces follow me everywhere.
          Sometimes I feel HAUNTED, but mostly it just fills with JOY.

I wake up in the middle of the night, and all I can remember from my dreams are their faces. I know that in my dreams, I was back in Honduras, listening to the children--Carlos, Dunia, Dulce, Joel, Norma--chatter away in Spanish or spinning in the dizzying heat as the children--Pahola, Angel, Noe, Dilcia, Yareli--tug at my hands.

          "A dream is a wish your heart makes."

Cinderella sang it to the accompaniment of cartoon mice and birds so it must be true, right? Usually, my heart is not really wishing for the bizarre dreams that I have (you know the ones where you're flying on a penguin because you're running late and you can't exactly put your finger on where you're going or how this penguin an fly? Yeah, not exactly my heart's wish.). But I know that in this case, I do wish to be back in Honduras where I was forced to rely on God, where I was loving those kids, and where (this is such a selfish but real reason) I felt needed. I get frustrated when I wake up with their faces burned in my mind and yet find myself in my own comfortable bed (technically it's a futon, but I suppose that's irrelevant here...) with air conditioning, running water, cell phone service, and a family who loves me immensely.

         "Get busy living, or get busy dying."

I recently watched The Shawshank Redemption. And those are Andy's words of wisdom to Red as they converse in the prison yard. How can you make statement like that while you are in prison for a crime you didn't commit? Actually, a better question: How can you make a statement like that while you are living in your comfortable suburban life? I went to Honduras and got busy living. I spent time with sixty-three children who, like Andy, didn't deserve their circumstances, but who where busy living. In my mind, they had every right to give up, to sigh and ask themselves, What's the point? I watched them LIVE, though. I heard them laugh. I held them while they cried. I squinted in the bright, unashamed joy of their smiles. And I joined in. We were busy living!

Now, however, I am home. I am uneasy because, in all the comforts of suburban American life, I don't want to catch myself getting busy dying. I love dreaming about their faces, Pahola's in particular. [I cannot escape her melodious and carefee laughter.] I see their faces in the children at Target and my church...and I do a double take as my heart first misses a beat, then just starts terribly missing my brothers and sisters in Honduras. Where do I draw the line between lovingly missing them while still living in the present and excessively missing them while slowly dying as I forget about the tireless phrase "Carpe diem"?

Tonight, when I wake up with Pahola's laughter echoing in my mind, I will lift my love of Honduras and of those children up in prayer, trusting that God Almighty, Rock and Redeemer, is busy living and watching over them. Tomorrow, when I wake to the sunlight streaming through my blinds (I'll be realistic, the obnoxious alarm on my phone will wake me up), I will get out of bed (futon) and get busy living.

I've been flirting with the phrase "living martyr." That's what I want to be. I want to sacrifice every day of my life, every breath of my life, and every adventure of my life (emphasis on "life") to God. It's martyrdom--giving up my life--while still living. Paradoxical, I know. But it's what following the Lamb is all about...being a living martyr.

Can I get busy living for Christ while simultaneously getting busy dying to Elizabeth? Heck yes. Did Elizabeth really just talk in the third person? Of course she did.

Me and Pahola

Missional Living in Greenwood, SC

A couple weeks ago, I visited the lovely town of Greenwood, SC. Believe it or not, the Southern city that is home to Lander University, a Wal-Mart, an O'Charley's, and not much else is one of my favorite places to spend time. I was born there and my grandparents still live there, so it's like a second home. I went with the intent of spending some quality time with my grandparents, but other opportunities arose, too.


Just after I returned from Honduras, my grandpa sent me an email asking if I would be willing to speak to his Sunday School class about my experience. I'm not one to keep up with email and I planned my trip to Greenwood without even imagining I would have the opportunity to share about Honduras...so a few days before embarking on my journey to Greenwood, he asked me on the phone if I was interested in speaking. Of course! The only thing I love more than actually experiencing missions is sharing my experiences with people, in hopes that they will embrace missional living in their own lives. What do you say to a group of senior citizens who are probably smarter and wiser than you? Only the words God gives you. As I was preparing, my grandmomma sent me a text (yep, my grandparents are pretty tech savvy) asking if I would also be willing to speak to a group of college kids. Now that one was right up my alley. There were a lot of things I wish people had told me about how you can live missions in your everyday life, how you can travel with a group of nonbelievers to do service and make it a mission trip, how God works in funny ways to get you where He wants you, how a little faith can go a long way (ever heard the one about the mustard seed?). So I put together a pretty presentation with the help of Prezi (check it out: http://prezi.com/hha0mjroq0es/honduran-adventures/), packed my suitcase, made a mixed CD for the roadtrip to Greenwood, and headed out.

It was so good to see my grandparents. It always is. I love talking over a cup of coffee, waking up early, going on shopping adventures, being crafty, and just hanging out. I swapped summer stories as they fed me entirely too much food and spoiled me in ways that only grandparents truly can. I loved every second of it! But it was so awesome to also have the opportunity to speak to two very different groups about my experiences in Honduras. I'm not sure if the group of college kids from Woodfields Baptist took anything away from my talk other than the baffling fact that I ate a LOT of beans and tortillas, but my prayer is that their eyes were opened to a world of missions to which all Christians are called, though each in a different, unique way. And even though I spoke very loudly, I don't know that the Sunday School class I spoke to at Rice Memorial Baptist really heard and understood what I had to say about life in a foreign country where corruption and chaos lurk around every bend in the mountainous roads, but I hope they now have a new perspective on the importance of supporting missionaries through prayer and donations...and how supporting missionaries makes them missionaries, too! It was good closure for me. It forced me to think about my trip as a whole and to face the fact that I am no longer in Honduras. I am in South Carolina, and there are so many ways I can serve here. 

While in Siguatepeque, I learned that mobilizing the church to embrace missional living begins with changing your own personal lifestyle. When you start living with a passion and drive for God's work, the believers around you will do the same in response. It starts with me. It starts with you. Individuals make the difference. Individuals start every revolution. 

Life in America is painfully different from the Honduran lifestyle I grew to adore. Being spoiled by my grandparents in the little town of Greenwood, SC is a far cry from eating beans and tortillas in San Buenaventura, HN. But wherever I am, I am called to be a missionary. I am called to live my life for God's purpose. Missional living, here I am.

A Poem from San Buenaventura

"Rest"

Thundering rain
On a red metal roof
Calls us outside
Away from a bowl
Of our freshly chopped salsa
Towards the smell of fire and renewal
We yell over the reverberations
But it is in vain
The heavy black clouds
Release their raindrops
And become a muted gray
Anger released
Turns into a moment of pure happiness
In the feeling of
Wet hair, goosebumps, salty avocados
And peace
The world is hidden away
In metal-roofed houses
From oppression and sadness
Song breaks through with the sun
It seems like dawn
Yet it's three in the afternoon
Thundering rain
On a red metal roof
Calls me to remember
God's power and grace and compassion
Rain is rest

Once-in-a-Lifetime Experiences in Honduras

"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.

Day 20: 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.

Day 21: 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.

A Weekend in Siguatepeque

 "Que rica!" That's how the girls at Casa Hogar described Siguatepeque when I told them all the interns were going there for the weekend. Literally translated "rica" means "rich." The girls meant that the city was beautiful and that we were going to have a lot of fun, but it was indeed a rich weekend for us. None of us anticipated how beautiful the YWAM base where we stayed would be; none of us expected to be so filled up physically, emotionally, spiritually; none of us could have imagined the peace we would feel in the beautiful city of Siguatepeque. A missionary family lives next to the base and run it--Carlos, Melissa, and their four boys (plus one girl on the way). In addition, there are three short-term missionaries living in the base that help Carlos and Melissa--Missie from Wisconsin, Ema from Argentina, and Roberto from Tegucigalpa. We arrived on Friday afternoon and just spent some time drinking coffee and talking. That night after dinner, Carlos taught a class on mobilizing the church. It was really interesting because one of the other interns and I had talked a lot about how that's such an issue in the States. Carlos also shared his testimony with us and it was absolutely incredible, so inspirational. We all slept well that night, exhausted from a hot, sickening bus ride through the mountains to Siguatepeque. The next morning we all spent some time alone with God before breakfast. I think several of the other interns are not used to spending time in silence with God, so it was really good for all of us. Then, coffee in hand, we plunged into almost 5 straight hours of classes. Missy taught us about aligning our dreams with God's dream, Roberto taught on the Great Commission, Melissa used the Old Testament to show us that God is and has been a missionary God, and Ema told lots and lots of stories that all related back to the Great Commission and Philippians 4:8. It was like trying to drink out of a water bottle during a monsoon. We spent the afternoon living what we had just learned about. We went to the local dump where several families live, and with the smell of trash twisting our faces into snarls and the hazy smoke burning our eyes, we passed out food and clothes to the people there. Another intern and I talked with a couple of the women--Clementina and Sara--and prayed for them in an English prayer that they couldn't understand. My hope is that Carlos and his YWAM crew will be able to return and build relationships with the people there.  We spent the rest of the afternoon prayer walking around downtown Siguatepeque before returning to the base for supper and a movie, "End of the Spear." I had trouble sleeping that night because I had so much on my mind. In the silence of the night, I had a lot of realizations about what my life should look like and what the life of a missionary looks like. Our last morning was beautiful. We had a time of praise, just singing along with an acoustic guitar. It was such a simple time, our voices seeking only God and our hearts attempting to bring glory to Him alone. We took some time to share what we learned during our time there and the missionaries prayed over us. At that point, it was time to leave. I was sad to leave the peaceful, beautiful, "rica" city behind and begin my last week here. Hopefully all eight of us interns will be able to maintain the spirit of Siguatepeque and take the peace back to Casa Hogar and the children there. 

Please pray that this week is as rich and peaceful for us and the children we are working with as our weekend in Siguatepeque was.
Pray that we would pour out everything we have in this last week and that God would change our hearts. 
Pray for Clementina and Sara, that God would protect them and that they would come to know Him personally.

"The Lord makes firm the steps of the one who delights in him...I was young and now I am old, yet I have never seen the righteous forsaken or their children begging bread." Psalm 37:23, 25

Life in Honduras

"'Cause we're alive, alive, alive and we're singing. We're alive, alive, alive, alive in You." Sons & Daughters

Today, I am truly alive. God had to break me down and make me fully reliant on Him, but today it is worth it because I am truly alive.

I am staying, with the six other interns, at Casa Hogar, the children's home in San Buena Ventura that LAMB runs. Due to some financial issues, some of the tutors that live with the kids here (and that are like mothers and fathers to them) are leaving. So in this time of transition, we are here loving on and praying for the kids. A typical day for me starts early, around 6 or 6:30, when I wake up to the sound of children laughing and roosters making their ridiculous noises. We have our daily hour of running water so we can take showers, wash dishes, mop. Coffee is a must for the day that awaits me. At every turn, we have to think about the water we're using because running water here is NOT okay to drink. So everything we cook with or brush our teeth with has to come from a special supply of purified water. I'm not a fan of bottled water...but here it's unavoidable unless you're in the mood for some serious stomach issues. Around 7:30, we all go help in the cabins for an hour. Last week I was in the little boys' cabin tying shoes, making beds, and just occupying energetic little boys while their tutor cleaned. In a precious moment every morning, I walked with them up a hill to their schoolhouse. This week I've been with the big girls which is a very different experience. They can get ready by themselves but they do want to dance around with you and ask about your novio (boyfriend). They're all convinced that I should date  Justin Bieber. After that, we spend our days doing different things. Some days we go to the market; other days we've just taken time to clean; sometimes we've done touristy things like visit the Cristo del Picacho statue; today we did construction with a team who's here from Atlanta.  In the evenings we go back to the cabins to hang out with the kids and get them ready for bed. With my little boys last week, that meant running around and around until they were exhausted and then giving them baths and sending them to bed. With the girls, that has meant playing UNO and hanging out in the kitchen. All the interns meet back up at night to have a devotional time before we crash. Every day has had a new, unexpected surprise. I've discovered that public transportation is exhausting and that doing laundry by hand on a cement washboard is super fun. There have been days where I've had tortillas for breakfast, lunch, and dinnerThe past few days, that surprise has been frustrating conflict within our group. But today, we have moved past it, and I have seen God connect so many different things that I've been learning. And today I took everything to God in prayer, like in Philippians 4:6-7, and just experienced peace and joy. I sang my way through my work and felt refreshed at every turn. I am alive here in Honduras. Like the grass that stubbornly grows in the rocks, like the frogs that appear whenever it rains, like the children who live here that come from abuse and neglect yet still love unabashedly. I am alive. 

I never thought I would fall so in love with such a crazy group of kids but my heart is just overflowing. Fernando with all his drama, Dulce and her amazing goalie skills, Noe who is the most adorable little boy ever but is always up to no good, Sergio and how he likes to tell me I am "crazy, fea, and simpático", Paola with her hilarious laugh and precious smile, Dilcia who clings to me, Angelito and his incessant smile...every single child has staked out a place in my heart. And when I ran out of love and strength and patience and perseverance, God started to love them through me, giving me His supernatural strength, patience, and enduring perseverance. This is why I am alive and singing.

What Wikipedia Won't Tell You

Being the nerd that I am, I decided to do some research about Honduras before coming down here. And what is every nerd's best friend? That's right: Wikipedia! I learned all about el presidente and the climate and the history. Full of random facts, I got off my plane in Tegucigalpa feeling quite knowledgable and prepared. But there are always things Wikipedia won't tell you.

Wikipedia won't tell you that when you land in Tegus, you are literally 25 yards from Domino's and that you feel aa though you could very possibly crash land into the surrounding buildings. Wikipedia won't tell you that during the rainy season, the land is lush--grass (grama) grows out of the very rocks, cows (vacas) graze along the mountain roads, trees (arboles) hand heavy with fruit. Wikipedia won't tell you that the air is sweet with the smell of ripening fruit as you drive by jardines and orchards. Wikipedia won't tell you that crossing the streets is terrifying--it's life or death every time you do it. Wikipedia won't tell you that Honduran bathrooms typically don't have toilet paper so BRING YOUR OWN. Wikipedia won't tell you how precious water is or that there is an artform to taking bucket baths. Wikipedia won't tell you how beautiful the language is when los niños look into your eyes and speak ("Las americanas bonitas!" "Corra!" "GOOOOL!"). Wikipedia won't tell you how poetic it is to wake up at 5:30AM to the sound of children's laughter. Wikipedia will never tell you that God is HERE. His love is written in las montañas, la cascada, el cielo azul, las flores. His grace is painted in the faces of the loving tuturas and stand-in mothers at the Casa Hogar. His compassion is seeped in the lives of the these children. LAMB is a place for second chances and new beginnings just as the cross (la cruz) is. Wikipedia will not do justice to the beauty and ugliness, the peace and violence, the happiness and sadness, the very presence of God Almighty in this place. God called me here for the summer...in my weaknesses and my total inability to love these children as I should by my own strength, God is strong and will not fail.  

Do they have bacon in Honduras?

I am going to Honduras.
I've declared it before and I'll probably declare it all the way there, but for the first time, it feels official.

I didn't want to go to Honduras this summer initially. I desperately wanted to be a counselor at SummerSalt, my younger sister's favorite summer camp, where I would be teaching middle and high schoolers about what it looks like to follow Jesus passionately every day. In my mind, it was the perfect way to spend the summer after my freshman year. So I put hours into the application and fretted over my interview, which much to my distress was rescheduled at least three times. And then I got the letter. I knew as I held it in my hands that I wouldn't be working at SummerSalt this summer, and that realization brought me to my knees. I spent the weekend after receiving the letter at Converge, a weekend of worship for the BCMs of South Carolina, where I decided that no matter where God was calling me for the summer, I would say yes and go. It's not like me to put that much faith in anyone other than myself, but who better to have control over my life and to have my complete submission than God? I thought it would be an easy road from there, but it wasn't. I watched my friends find out about the summer missions they'd applied to, and I searched. I envied the ease with which they chose to go and I lay awake at night repeating my promise to God that sounded a lot like a Brett Younker song: "I'm saying yes to You, wherever you call me, whatever you lead me to." It is not easy to agree to an unknown calling. Some days I trusted God immensely and I found freedom in this new concept of allowing Him to call all the shots. Other days, I wanted to scream at my dad for asking me so many questions about the summer and I doubted that God even cared enough to guide me in the right direction.

But God put unexpected clues in my life. I found myself admitting to my adviser what I really wanted to do with the rest of my life instead of giving her the "acceptable" answer. She directed me to several Hispanic ministries both here and abroad. As soon as she said the word "Honduras", though, I was sold. I knew that I wanted to go there. I prayed about it and finally found the time to send in my application. Without even hearing from anyone at the organization in Honduras, I also applied for a summer stipend that would assist with the costs...and I got it. Can you believe the College of Charleston is paying for my mission trip to Honduras? It's beautiful.

I didn't realize then, though, that I was just beginning the fight to get to Honduras. I had applied online with the LAMB Institute to spend part of my summer in Tegucigalpa, Honduras; I had secured a stipend to help cover the costs of airfare and other expenses; I had begun to tell people that's where I was going this summer because I felt so strongly called there. But I didn't hear back from LAMB. I waited and waited, reminding God of my promise to go wherever He was calling me. I finally emailed the volunteer coordinator and discovered that LAMB was actually creating an internship for people interested in mission work as a potential career to participate in during the summer. The more she told me about it, the more I fell in love. I felt like everything was falling into place. This was the perfect opportunity for me. But again, I met silence and was forced to be patient...these things take time, right? I wanted confirmation that I was going to Honduras this summer for a specific amount of time doing specific things there. I longed for details. Apparently, though, details and missions don't go hand in hand. I got commissioned at River Church alongside all my friends who were doing BCM missions this summer. But as I stood up in front of the congregation and declared that I was going to Honduras this summer, part of me wanted to cry because I still didn't feel certain that I was going. I think I did cry when a lady from Roatán, Honduras in the congregation prayed over me. To me, faith looks a whole lot like getting up and telling a hundred people you are going somewhere when the only real confirmation you have is that God makes you feel really excited whenever someone says, "Honduras." That faith was not from me that morning. It belonged completely to God and He had just loaned it out to me for the time being.

I finally got to meet with the volunteer coordinator to talk about the internship. All the interns would apparently be living together in a house where all the cooking and cleaning would be their responsibility. We would be working with LAMB's children home and at-risk youth project. We would be  digging deeper into the life of missionaries with the lady who had started the entire ministry in Honduras--a missionary from Charleston named Suzy. Sitting in Starbucks that day with the volunteer coordinator, I wanted to throw down my coffee and immediately book my flights so I could GO. She advised me to pray about how long I should come and talk to my parents about the whole thing. I prayed. Oh man, God and I have never had that much constant conversation before. It was great. After a lot of prayer and thought, I felt like three weeks would be the perfect amount of time for me. I longed to go for the longer term of six weeks, but I realized that desire was selfish. There were other things for me to do this summer. I told the volunteer coordinator my decision and waited for more information.

None came.
I waited longer, feeling summer's breath at the back of my neck as finals came and went and I still hadn't heard anything. Back at home, I finally emailed her, trying to keep the impatience from screaming out behind every word of my brief email. She was shocked to hear I had never received the email she'd sent weeks ago. At that point, I didn't have a lot faith...I sill felt so insecure about it. But the next day, she sent me an email with everything I needed to know about my trip to Honduras in it. I was ecstatic. There was the security I felt I needed. It was real to me finally. I booked flights, I filled out forms, I got travel insurance and found my passport, I began reading the list of books all the interns were told to read as part of our discovering what it looks like to be a missionary.

So I've been reading, gathering clothes to pack, and praying for God to prepare my heart. I've been asking questions about Honduras: Is the coffee good there? Do they eat bacon there? What is it like to live there? Are the mosquitoes bad? Will I be able to blog while I'm there? Will I absolutely love it there? I still don't feel completely secure because I am human and I have very little faith in the Creator of the universe most of the time. But I have already learned that being a missionary means that you say yes to God's calling no matter what, that you have to step out on faith even when you really don't have any, that you have to fight all opposing forces to answer God's call, that you have to trust in God when it's all coming together and when it's all coming apart, and that you pray...a lot. I've never had my faith tested quite this much before.

Whether or not there is bacon there, I am going to Honduras on June 13th for three weeks. I don't pretend to fully know or understand God's will for my life, but I still wake up every morning and say, "Yes." Honduras, here I come.




http://www.lambinstitute.org/