Hello All,
Well, the day started with an early morning game of World Cup soccer between Honduras and Chile which, sadly, resulted in a loss. Watching the game was still a good time, though, as we huddled in the dark of the living room on the couches at five in the morning to cheer on our team. I still wore my Honduras jersey today for solidarity. We followed the game with some early-morning prayer.
I am learning once again how blessed I can be by the little things. For example, generally, milk here is either bought in bags or is bought in powdered form and mixed with water. We typically have powdered milk and when we put it on our cereal, unless someone has put some in the refrigerator, it is room temperature. This is a little odd for this gringa, but I still eat it gladly. This morning, though, we had cold milk! I was so blessed by God's little gift that I sat in my seat, swaying and humming and slurping my cold milk and bran flakes like a jovial toddler.
My days here are tranquil. I read a lot and pray and journal extensively. It is a needed phase at this time, and it will only last so long before teaching will begin on Tuesday. Yikes! This week is going by so quickly. This evening, we will go to church again. I have come to enjoy the fact that when I have no real expectations or pressures for this place to be home, it becomes home again. I am learning that Honduras has always seemed like home because of the level of submission God always brings me to in this place. It is not this country in and of itself (although we did have chicken tacos with pickled cabbage and carrot salad for lunch, and I will readily say that I will gladly adopt the food!).
For example, today Roy, Sally, Sara, and I all went to the market in Kennedy to buy some fruits, vegetables, and other needed items. Roy and I carried the bags although he's stubborn and wouldn't actually let me carry that much. As we wandered by the stands, a lady made a comment on my Honduras jersey. She gave a big speech about how odd it was to see a gringa sporting catracho colors on game day after they'd just lost--especially when the U.S. is a qualifying team as well. She, herself, was wearing a Honduras jersey, and apparently, someone had told her that she should take it off since they lost. But, she affirmed that win or lose, she's always a catracha. She spoke very quickly, so it was hard for me to catch it all, and her tone of voice changed so drastically so many times that I wondered for a second if she was insulting me or praising me for my choice in clothing. But, the laughter and look on Roy's face reassured me that she meant well. It was a funny moment because it was a little eye-opening to the truth that if I live here, no matter how well I get acclimated, because of the color of my skin, I can only ever be a catracha at heart.
Meanwhile, today has been very good. I am quite joyful and am reminded of many beautiful things. On my flight here, I was reminding myself that I am in God's hands. Then God gave me a fantastic mental image--the terrain below me at that time was green rolling hills and ridges with streaks of rivers and roads. So much like the palm of a jolly, green, giant hand. It was a fun thought to think of myself nestled amidst the hill ridges of His skin, the road wrinkles of his flesh, and the river creases of His palm.
Yesterday, we had a fresh and comforting rain in the evening. The sound of rain on a tin roof is wonderful. I looked out at the mountain that towers above Villa Vieja, and I noticed a thick fog. It reminded me of my all-too-familiar favorite song, "Waiting for My Real Life to Begin" by Colin Hay: On a clear day, I can see. . .see for a long way. Well, it's no longer a clear day for me. I can barely see two feet in front of me, but that doesn't make the day any less beautiful. And so I live moment by delicious moment.
I have continued reading Elisabeth Elliot's book, Passion and Purity, and I have found it to be very helpful. Below are only a few of my favorite excerpts:
"My heart was saying, 'Lord, take away this longing, or give me that for which I long.' The Lord was answering, 'I must teach you to long for something better.'"
(from T.C. Upham's Inward Divine Guidance) "The disposition . . . to leave the dearest objects of our hearts in the sublime keeping of the general and unspecific belief that God is now answering our prayers in His own time and way, and in the best manner, involves a present process of inward crucifixion which is obviously unfavorable to the growth and even the existence of the life of self."
I also wish to tell you how much I love my family here. I live at the Eagle's Nest (for more info, go to www.mehonduras.org) with Aunt Sara and Aunt Sally, two strong-willed widows who I love very much along with the girls. It is no accident that I am surrounded perpetually by women--strong ones at that. Sally speaks her mind freely (a liberty she claims at the insistence of age--she's in her seventies). And Sara is a Nicaraguan fireball. She doesn't take anybody's nonsense, and she can call anyone out for anything at the drop of a hat. She's not afraid to state what needs to be said, but she does so with sharp wisdom and maternal tenderness. I admire that. Meanwhile, I also live with strong girls, most of whom have escaped the abuse of men.
I love our "buen provechos" at every meal. I love watching Jeopardy with Sara and Sally, as Sally and I try to answer, and Sara looks at us like we're crazy. I love listening to Quendy and Mayra sing "La Nina de Tus Ojos" loudly. They are His daughters, undoubtedly. I love Blanca's rabid snore at night. I love the mother-daughter interactions between Sara and Diana. I love Mayra's mile-a-minute Spanish, and her insistence today that I am a part of her new family. I love Quendy's spontaneous hugs, and Blanca's eye-rolling jokes. I enjoy our girly primping (with our cold water bucket bathing) and shared struggles as women. I love the power of femininity that I see in them. It is encouraging to be surrounded by them at this time.
My girls and I had an honest conversation today that I thought was funny just because of who all was in earshot. We were all sitting at the kitchen table as they worked on homework. Quendy looked up at me and asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said no. All of the girls at the table gasped and looked at me like I was a crazy person. Mayra apparently didn't understand because she asked me my boyfriend's name. No lo tengo. What? Why? They asked. I just laughed and shook my head, but they persisted. How are old are you? Twenty-one. Twenty-one? With no boyfriend? (Apparently, I am an old maid.) I started laughing, and I said that I didn't have a boyfriend because I only want the person that God has for me. Sweet little Mayra said, "Who is that?" I started laughing again. Blanca then insisted that I do have a boyfriend--and she pointed above. And in this innocent movement, she is correct. I so love my girls; they strengthen my heart.
This conversation echoes some of the words of Elisabeth Elliot as well:
"If your goal is purity of heart, be prepared to be thought very odd." Ain't that the truth. With that thought, I am reminded of a funny day in Mexico. On two occasions in one day, my oddities were brought to light. In my grammar class, we were asked to use the subjunctive tense to describe our ideal man. Let's just say that my ideals were strikingly different from those of my fellow female classmates. It was after that day that my professor, Daniel, starting calling me the "good girl" of the class. Thanks for that further ostracization. . .it's not like I wasn't weird enough as it is. :) Then, in my conversation class, our theme was the history of the kiss. We were asked during the conversation to share the story of our first kiss if we felt comfortable to do so. I politely refused (for the simple reason that I don't have one). At some point in life, due to the social pressures of peers, it would have been difficult to admit this. But, at this age, this is a not a fact of which I am ashamed. I get that it seems homeschool--perhaps being homeschooled has contributed to this fact of me. I don't know. Please understand though that it doesn't have to do with legalism or rigid morality. All that I know is that I have always been the kind of person who is typically governed by logic. Even in the perilous waves of adolescence, my parents--Dad especially--always raised me to recognize that I could control my emotions, that they were fickle, and that I did not have to be at their mercy. With this in mind, I soon recognized in myself a tendency to be excruciatingly loyal and not someone that lets go of people easily. Thus, I knew early on that I was not about to engage in a "for funzies" relationship that would only lead to unnecessary heartbreak. And, as a result, I was spared a lot of unnecessary heartache. I suppose as a combination of many components--my upbringing, my personality, my own fears, my stubborn nature, etc.--I am who I am in this realm. I have wanted and have chosen to wait for "the real thing" for a long time now. I genuinely only want the person that God has for me. For the most part, I am not one for compromise or settling although, like any human, I've had my screw ups. I have learned over the years that a real marriage that lasts--one that is God-ordained between people that are first and foremost seeking and fulfilled by Him, hand-picked, and coordinated at precisely the right time and in the right way--is nothing short of a miracle. With that said, I also think it is completely possible. But, as it says in Zechariah, "These things only come about by My Spirit." So, perhaps, I shouldn't be this honest. But this is voluntary reading after all, and I'm just trying to be real. I'm a saver--I always have been. I hoarded birthday and Christmas money for years, and my family used to pick on me when I was a kid for my candy stash that included 2-year-old Easter peeps and flaking chocolate that tasted funny. I suppose that I treasure the ability to make even the tiniest things in life sacred. This child-like tendency gives life even more joy. After all, something you've waited for extensively is much more precious than something easily obtained. This realm of life is no different.
So with these admissions out of the way, I will leave you with a song I've come to greatly enjoy:
The Valley Song by Jars of Clay
You have led me to the sadness
I have carried this pain
On my back, bruised and broken
I'm crying out to You
I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy
When death, like a gypsy
Comes to steal what I love
I will still look to the heavens
I will still seek Your face
But I fear You aren't listening
Because there are no words
Just the stillness and the hunger
For a faith that is Yours
I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy
Hallelujah, hallelujah
Hallelujah, hallelujah
While we wait for a rescue
With our eyes tightly shut
Face to the ground, using our hands
To cover the fatal cut
Though the pain is an ocean
Tossing us around, around, around
You have calmed greater waters
And higher mountains have come down
I will sing of your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy
Sporting braids and slurping cold milk,
Sarah
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