Honduras

My heart is in Honduras no doubt. Now that i have traveled to Mexico, it is there also. But I became attached to Central America at a young and ripe age and the country of Honduras is like my first love. I will be returning for my fourth trip this December. Keep me in your prayers! Here is an essay i wrote a while back after my 2nd trip...

My Mission

 

            Trees fly by in the deepest colors of green, as hills and mountains of the same, roll on at unending distances. I press one side of my forehead against the cold window of the rental van while silently and internally protesting my departure. Bidding my tears to fall, I consciously zone out of the real world and instantly imagine the possibilities: “Mom, I can’t go to college. I’m moving to Honduras. I need to stay here,” or maybe “accidentally” losing my passport on the way to the airport. Either way I looked at it, returning to the US was a reality and daydreaming wouldn’t change it.

My week long trip to Honduras had come to an end and as I, along with others in my mission team, was being tousled and jolted inside this creaky rental van descending the mountain, my heart felt as though it was being ripped out. It was in these final moments of my stay in rural Central America that the most intense feelings for this country surged through me; from feelings of abandoning the people and place to where I belonged, all the way to fears of this longing being found incomprehensible to friends and family back home. With my headphones on, I let a sentimental song encase me in my own world and alter my already frayed emotions. I would have easily believed I was in a movie had I not been painfully aware that no one cared about my inner turmoil in that moment.

February 2006 marks the moment I fell in love with a culturally- opposite group of people; a people who have nothing more to offer than weathered hands but actually give more than the richest royalty. Since this was my second trip to Honduras, I felt somewhat proficient in the missionary area at first but I never expected the attachment that I left with. This was a passion surfacing from the depths of my soul; a God-given mission. I believe my second visit was much different than the previous for several reasons. First of all and most obvious, I was older. Two years had passed and a lot of maturing takes place between fifteen and seventeen years old (usually). Secondly, I had a slight resistance to the expectations of others on the initial trip. For some strange reason, I internally rebelled against statements such as, “It’ll change your life,” and, “You’ll never be the same.” Although foundational and extremely important, my first stay wasn’t exactly heart-gripping enough to convince me of living the Honduran lifestyle full time.

Friday night, in the city of El Paraiso, I sleepily unloaded my luggage from the rental van into the familiar missionary housing and instantly felt something different and much bigger. My senses all at once were bombarded with foreign smells of lye soap and sounds of geckos and goats. Over the course of the next few days, my team prepared bags and boxes with sorted medicines and hygiene essentials. These goods were for the families we would encounter at each clinic we were to have in the mountainous regions.  Knowing that our annual visits were the only medical attention most of these families received, I silently prayed over each bag and box I handled.

            A little boy, named Brian, who was three years old at the time, captured my heart. As a rough, hyper little kid, many people were annoyed with him but I was instantly drawn to his snotty-nosed, dimply smile covered in food and dirt. Brian’s father was the gatekeeper at our compound where we stayed during the night so little Brian played all around us during the day. For the week that we remained in El Paraiso I showered him with hugs and “I love you’s,” which actually came out as “I love me” more often than not, in my attempt to speak Spanish. I wondered then and still wonder now what kind of affection he receives from his parents.  Luke 9:48 became my theme verse on this trip because Jesus told His disciples, “...Whoever receives this little child in my name receives Me; and whoever receives Me receives Him who sent Me. For he who is least among you all will be great.”

            At each clinic we traveled to during the week, my eyes were opened more and more to the poverty that these living souls had to deal with on a daily basis. To me, this was a week long adventure; one more honor to list on a college application and a sponge full of stories that I had collected, ready to be squeezed onto wide-eyed listeners back home. But as I looked into the eyes of a nineteen-year-old mother of five, something screamed inside of me that said, “You were made for this.” How ill-equipped and unqualified I felt. Yet I knew when I held a fragile, 5 lb. baby in my arms and saw the string of red beads on his wrist due to the superstitious beliefs of his mom that these people were desperate for survival.

            Packing up and leaving was the hardest for I had never experienced a bond as strong as I did when I was among the Honduran people. The last night of our stay, my team and I were gathered in the kitchen of the compound as little shirtless, dirty-faced Brian ran to me and climbed in my lap. I put my arms around his waist and rubbed his bare stomach until just minutes later he was sound asleep. I slowly rose to place him in his dad’s hammock and prayed a prayer of protection and provision over him. Fighting back tears, I turned back toward the kitchen, knowing we would be leaving the next day. I wrote in my journal the following day about how sad it was leaving before I got the chance to see Brian again or say goodbye. I look forward to seeing his sweet little face again on my next trip. Pictures and journal entries definitely make the memories sweeter and more vivid, so much that I can’t help but cry when I study them. This opportunity has been life-changing to say the least, but it has been much more than an experience. It has been a confirmation of my burden for deprived and less fortunate families and cultures. I will always look back and remember when my mission began.