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