I had a blog once. It was awful.

This past year has been brutal on my blogging. To be fair, most of my desire to write was sucked dry by my Bachelor's Essay, which became a beast of a creation: 16 single-spaced pages of people's volunteer stories and my analysis of it all. I also spent what little free time I had applying for jobs and helping my husband plan a wedding. Well, the wedding thing worked out, but the job? Jury's still out on that one. Between my senior year coursework and helping the lovely Eliza Blades and Laura Mewbourn run the Bonner Leader Program at CofC, I had nothing left when the day was over. So I mindnumbingly watched a lot of Netflix: Breaking Bad, Psych, The Walking Dead, movies on movies on movies. I regret not blogging through my spring break trip to Guatemala and missing out on this reflective space that allows me to make beautiful connections through the craziest year of my life.

But I'm now living a new life, in a new state, in a new apartment, with a new name and a new roommate (hey, John Ray, who doesn't read over my shoulder nearly as much as I read over his). It feels like a good time to pick this blog up, brush off the dust, and reimagine what it will be.

Blogging can be like having an existential crisis all the time. I constantly ask: What should my blog be about? Is this life event significant enough to write about? Am I witty enough? Do people get my sense of humor? Will people care to read about that random thing that happened to me? Would they like more pictures? Does anyone actually read this thing? Is my life meaningful at all?! Okay, not the last one so much. A blog sometimes feels something like an unpleasant growth on the side of your face. People stare at it, but don't ask about it. The word "blog" itself is too uncomfortable to mention anyway. You can't just walk into any room and declare, "I HAVE A BLOG." No, that won't do at all.

But I've made the move from Charleston, SC to Louisville, KY, and, as uncomfortable as it is to say, I'd like to bring my blog along with me. I've traded the Atlantic Ocean and quaint historic houses for rolling green hills and a quirky industrial city with horse and bourbon obsessions. We're trying to find new digs and niches, and basically, I'm not sure where life is taking me from here. Right now, I'm reveling in the joys of watching any World Cup game I want and going to bed before 10 every night. I'm also marveling at how easily I get antsy and frustrated and irrational while my unemployed self sits at home all day staring at job listings. So perhaps my blog and I will be helping each other do some reimagining here.

Welcome to my transition space.
I make no promises, so expect only me. 

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.