Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Dios te bendiga, Dios te bendiga, Dios te bendiga
It has been quite a summer here in Honduras. Even though we are very much here there has been a surreal element to all of this. The culture itself has been very much different than what I expected. So too is mission or at least my limited exposure to it. What strikes me most deeply is that regardless as to whether we can bring any lasting benefit or not, we needed to come and experience this. Regardless, if American Christians can bring any benefit to the world or not, they need to leave America to see the world more fully. If only, to begin to “see” more clearly. If only, to begin to see ourselves more clearly.
There has been for my wife and I a sense that we are more observers than missionaries. My family was given a privileged view not only of the home but how the home interacts with the very different churches that come here on mission. Thus far we have lived in the home not only with the girls but, seven different mission groups who have come from around the United States. They have allowed us the opportunity to not Witness in the Christian sense but witness. My family was allowed in and we have been able to watch this fascinating ministry.
Mission, at least as I understood it coming here, has a connotation of “purpose”. To be missionaries is to bring the Gospel. As an individual from the North East Corridor we are trained by our culture(very well, I might add) to be people of purpose. Our value is measured by with our ability to network, achieve goals, and multi-task. Naturally, I applied that drive to mission work. There was a sense prior to coming here that we would come, finish projects and in our finishing projects we would make OLR, Honduras, and even the world a better place. While one should read the last paragraph with a little humor, my sense of mission was really the fusion of Steven Covey and the Gospel. What I was to discover in the conversations with the many other American missionaries who came through this summer, that this “purpose ness” was a shared conception. It was never stated but, it was there. This is the stuff of two cultures colliding. It has left me wondering over the course of the summer who was missioning to whom? Was it us coming to help the girls or the girls and the wider culture missioning to us? In answering honestly, I think it is us who needed the missioning to. We’ve experienced a place that has certainly received us. The girls have taken in our children. In fact they have taken in all of us, sharing not only their home but their lives.
This trip, as long as it was, is not long enough to bring any real change. Yet as short as it has been I have caught a further glimpse not so much into Honduras but myself. This became revealed most clearly during a recent trip to Omoa. I was to come face to face with my culture and the legacy it has left with me. Thankfully in coming to see how “encultured” I am as an American I was able to be blessed by a God who is not bound by our culture. God and country are not synonomous.
It was about our forth week here and the walls of the Compound were starting to creep in. One of things my eldest son Henny has sought this summer was to see the blue water of the Caribbean. We decided to travel to see the Fortuleza de Omoa which also happened to be on the coast. We set out for our hour and half journey on two local “directo’s”. We thought we might find that blue water. It would be a day of relaxation.
When we got to the town is was very much like all the others we had seen. It was dusty and there was a lot of trash. We were hot having been packed in like sardines. The air in town smelled of exhaust and dying sea creatures but at least it was a little fresher than the stink of hot bodies on the bus. Benjamin my two year old was crying because he was hot. Rebekah my four year old was hungry and my eldest was bugging me for a Fanta. And then we saw the beach… it was a mess. The water was not blue but brackish. It was doted with dead limbs and trash. The beach itself was full of trash and to our amazement there were many people swimming. My expectation of a nice get away came crashing down on that shore.
I wanted to leave. I didn’t want to simply leave Omoa. I wanted to leave Honduras. I was tired of the smell. I was tired of the trash. I was tired about being vigilant about what we eat and how often we wash our hands. I was fed up with being worried about my children and their little bouts of sickness. I wigged out essentially. This was to be my lowest point. It was my desert. It was if I was trapped and I did not want the next breath. I simply felt dirty and I wanted to flee. Four weeks in Honduras had left me raw. So much of what I take for granted are comforts. What I’ve grown accustomed to in the states is simply not the norm in all the world. I experienced what I believe to be a cultural brake down. I had been stripped. I understand for the first time the Israelites plea for the vegetables of Egypt. I wanted leeks and onions not what I was getting!
I had regained some composure Monday morning. We managed to get our things packed up and needed to return to the home. We managed to catch a local bus or “chicken bus” from Omoa heading to Puerto Cortes. The bus was an old American School bus. It belched out a black cloud as it lurched off down the road. My eldest son Henny and I had to stand. My wife managed a seat and a woman sitting next to her took turns passing Benjamin and Rebekah back and forth. We were the only Americans on the bus. If anyone was gawking I didn’t notice. Mostly it was simply the blank faces of people riding a public bus. Not having anywhere else to go I watched and began to see.
The first thing I noticed was that women and children always got a seat. If a mother got on a young man or girl would get out of their seat. If she had more than one child and they were small grandmothers or other woman would sit them on their lap. I was to experience as I had experienced before in Honduras that you would always get your change. Once a price is settled the proper change was always returned. In the middle of this crowded bus their was a man who walked, dodged, jostled his way back and forth collecting the fare from all incoming passengers. The price for my family was 40 lempira (just over two dollars). I only had a hundred lempira note. He rolled his eyes a bit but took the money. He did not have change at the time. He pushed his way passed toward the end of the bus. It took about five minutes and I have to admit I thought he walked off with my three dollars of change. Yet five minutes later he weaved his way back toward the front giving me the 60 lempira. It was the next experience on that bus which has made me glad I did not return to that old slavery.
When we got to Honduras in the beginning of the summer I was told that Hondurans will not really let you know what they need. They tend to keep their thoughts to themselves. This was evidenced by the man who cuts the trees and grass who never once asked for food or water even though it was incredibly hot. This was also evidenced by Ella the housekeeper who I heard never complained that she washed the girls clothes by hand prior to the home getting washers and dryers. For someone to brake that code of silence, I think, is given more merit then say, in the states. As we rode along a blind man being led by young boy got on the bus. As the bus lurched off again the man took off his dark glasses revealing eyes that would not focus. They were glossed over with a film. He was obviously blind. He began to shout out his story to the whole bus. It was hard to tell if anyone was listening.
From what I could understand he had lost his sight at work. My wife told me later that he had had several surgeries but nothing worked. He himself was unemployable. He was asking for money. I was to see a depth of charity that would be hard to find in the states. He began to walk toward the end of the bus. Lempira began to be thrust into his hand. A little at a time the dollars were placed there and as he went he repeated over and over, “Dios te bendiga, Dios te bendiga, Dios te bendiga.” “God bless you, God bless you, God bless you.”
Sixty to seventy percent of the people riding toward Puerto Cortes placed money in his hand. These were people riding the “chicken bus”. They didn’t have cars. These were people who were also in need. They did not have insurance. They were hanging on with low paying jobs. They were people who lived closer to “daily bread” than my family did. They reached over and shared what they had. They slipped Lempira's in the blind mans hand. No one congratulated themselves or hung a plaque. They barely changed their expression. They were simply on the road to Puerto Cortes and the meek came calling. He was received. His daily bread came. He blessed us. “Dios te bendiga, Dios te bendiga, Dios te bendiga.”
Thankfully God is not bound by our expectations. Had I left Honduras that night I never would have seen the “other” Honduras as evidenced by the giving to the blind man. I think that at this point in the mission that has been the greatest effect. I’ve had to look beyond the surface of things. By coming I’ve seen beyond what was told to me about Honduras. By coming I’ve also seen beyond what I have been told about the United States. This culture has allowed me to see it again. The experience in general and specifically in Omoa has stripped away many of the comforts of home. In the process I have been exposed to God in ways I never would have expected. By coming to Our Little Roses I have certainly been exposed to a people and place that needs assistance. There is a gross inequality in the world. But what I discovered is that this place does not need to become like us, for on its own it holds a depth and richness that I could not have imagined. I have found that by coming to look I have been forever enriched. So I ask again, who has missioned to whom?
There has been for my wife and I a sense that we are more observers than missionaries. My family was given a privileged view not only of the home but how the home interacts with the very different churches that come here on mission. Thus far we have lived in the home not only with the girls but, seven different mission groups who have come from around the United States. They have allowed us the opportunity to not Witness in the Christian sense but witness. My family was allowed in and we have been able to watch this fascinating ministry.
Mission, at least as I understood it coming here, has a connotation of “purpose”. To be missionaries is to bring the Gospel. As an individual from the North East Corridor we are trained by our culture(very well, I might add) to be people of purpose. Our value is measured by with our ability to network, achieve goals, and multi-task. Naturally, I applied that drive to mission work. There was a sense prior to coming here that we would come, finish projects and in our finishing projects we would make OLR, Honduras, and even the world a better place. While one should read the last paragraph with a little humor, my sense of mission was really the fusion of Steven Covey and the Gospel. What I was to discover in the conversations with the many other American missionaries who came through this summer, that this “purpose ness” was a shared conception. It was never stated but, it was there. This is the stuff of two cultures colliding. It has left me wondering over the course of the summer who was missioning to whom? Was it us coming to help the girls or the girls and the wider culture missioning to us? In answering honestly, I think it is us who needed the missioning to. We’ve experienced a place that has certainly received us. The girls have taken in our children. In fact they have taken in all of us, sharing not only their home but their lives.
This trip, as long as it was, is not long enough to bring any real change. Yet as short as it has been I have caught a further glimpse not so much into Honduras but myself. This became revealed most clearly during a recent trip to Omoa. I was to come face to face with my culture and the legacy it has left with me. Thankfully in coming to see how “encultured” I am as an American I was able to be blessed by a God who is not bound by our culture. God and country are not synonomous.
It was about our forth week here and the walls of the Compound were starting to creep in. One of things my eldest son Henny has sought this summer was to see the blue water of the Caribbean. We decided to travel to see the Fortuleza de Omoa which also happened to be on the coast. We set out for our hour and half journey on two local “directo’s”. We thought we might find that blue water. It would be a day of relaxation.
When we got to the town is was very much like all the others we had seen. It was dusty and there was a lot of trash. We were hot having been packed in like sardines. The air in town smelled of exhaust and dying sea creatures but at least it was a little fresher than the stink of hot bodies on the bus. Benjamin my two year old was crying because he was hot. Rebekah my four year old was hungry and my eldest was bugging me for a Fanta. And then we saw the beach… it was a mess. The water was not blue but brackish. It was doted with dead limbs and trash. The beach itself was full of trash and to our amazement there were many people swimming. My expectation of a nice get away came crashing down on that shore.
I wanted to leave. I didn’t want to simply leave Omoa. I wanted to leave Honduras. I was tired of the smell. I was tired of the trash. I was tired about being vigilant about what we eat and how often we wash our hands. I was fed up with being worried about my children and their little bouts of sickness. I wigged out essentially. This was to be my lowest point. It was my desert. It was if I was trapped and I did not want the next breath. I simply felt dirty and I wanted to flee. Four weeks in Honduras had left me raw. So much of what I take for granted are comforts. What I’ve grown accustomed to in the states is simply not the norm in all the world. I experienced what I believe to be a cultural brake down. I had been stripped. I understand for the first time the Israelites plea for the vegetables of Egypt. I wanted leeks and onions not what I was getting!
I had regained some composure Monday morning. We managed to get our things packed up and needed to return to the home. We managed to catch a local bus or “chicken bus” from Omoa heading to Puerto Cortes. The bus was an old American School bus. It belched out a black cloud as it lurched off down the road. My eldest son Henny and I had to stand. My wife managed a seat and a woman sitting next to her took turns passing Benjamin and Rebekah back and forth. We were the only Americans on the bus. If anyone was gawking I didn’t notice. Mostly it was simply the blank faces of people riding a public bus. Not having anywhere else to go I watched and began to see.
The first thing I noticed was that women and children always got a seat. If a mother got on a young man or girl would get out of their seat. If she had more than one child and they were small grandmothers or other woman would sit them on their lap. I was to experience as I had experienced before in Honduras that you would always get your change. Once a price is settled the proper change was always returned. In the middle of this crowded bus their was a man who walked, dodged, jostled his way back and forth collecting the fare from all incoming passengers. The price for my family was 40 lempira (just over two dollars). I only had a hundred lempira note. He rolled his eyes a bit but took the money. He did not have change at the time. He pushed his way passed toward the end of the bus. It took about five minutes and I have to admit I thought he walked off with my three dollars of change. Yet five minutes later he weaved his way back toward the front giving me the 60 lempira. It was the next experience on that bus which has made me glad I did not return to that old slavery.
When we got to Honduras in the beginning of the summer I was told that Hondurans will not really let you know what they need. They tend to keep their thoughts to themselves. This was evidenced by the man who cuts the trees and grass who never once asked for food or water even though it was incredibly hot. This was also evidenced by Ella the housekeeper who I heard never complained that she washed the girls clothes by hand prior to the home getting washers and dryers. For someone to brake that code of silence, I think, is given more merit then say, in the states. As we rode along a blind man being led by young boy got on the bus. As the bus lurched off again the man took off his dark glasses revealing eyes that would not focus. They were glossed over with a film. He was obviously blind. He began to shout out his story to the whole bus. It was hard to tell if anyone was listening.
From what I could understand he had lost his sight at work. My wife told me later that he had had several surgeries but nothing worked. He himself was unemployable. He was asking for money. I was to see a depth of charity that would be hard to find in the states. He began to walk toward the end of the bus. Lempira began to be thrust into his hand. A little at a time the dollars were placed there and as he went he repeated over and over, “Dios te bendiga, Dios te bendiga, Dios te bendiga.” “God bless you, God bless you, God bless you.”
Sixty to seventy percent of the people riding toward Puerto Cortes placed money in his hand. These were people riding the “chicken bus”. They didn’t have cars. These were people who were also in need. They did not have insurance. They were hanging on with low paying jobs. They were people who lived closer to “daily bread” than my family did. They reached over and shared what they had. They slipped Lempira's in the blind mans hand. No one congratulated themselves or hung a plaque. They barely changed their expression. They were simply on the road to Puerto Cortes and the meek came calling. He was received. His daily bread came. He blessed us. “Dios te bendiga, Dios te bendiga, Dios te bendiga.”
Thankfully God is not bound by our expectations. Had I left Honduras that night I never would have seen the “other” Honduras as evidenced by the giving to the blind man. I think that at this point in the mission that has been the greatest effect. I’ve had to look beyond the surface of things. By coming I’ve seen beyond what was told to me about Honduras. By coming I’ve also seen beyond what I have been told about the United States. This culture has allowed me to see it again. The experience in general and specifically in Omoa has stripped away many of the comforts of home. In the process I have been exposed to God in ways I never would have expected. By coming to Our Little Roses I have certainly been exposed to a people and place that needs assistance. There is a gross inequality in the world. But what I discovered is that this place does not need to become like us, for on its own it holds a depth and richness that I could not have imagined. I have found that by coming to look I have been forever enriched. So I ask again, who has missioned to whom?
Monday, July 25, 2005
Please pray for Primus
Please pray for Primus Burley. He passed away this morning. He lives in Cooper City Florida and his family is very active at St. Benedict's. He leaves behind his wife and three children. He was a hell of a cook and had a deep rich laugh. Salt of the earth. He was not much for organized religion but his hospitality revealed his heart. He will be missed.
On the way to Tela I encountered the US economy
We went to Tela Beach about 4 weeks ago. A thought has not left me since.
The family took the local bus out of San Pedro Sula. It was our first real step away from the home and first step out of the city. There was nothing particularly special about the trip. All we knew was that we wanted to get away. I certainly did not think it would challenge my thinking about what I hear in the states. All I wanted to do was "get away".
Driving through Honduras is difficult. If you have been raised in the states and are used to middle class or upper middle class living then you are culturally conditioned to see relatively clean streets, mowed lawns, and well maintained cars. I also am quite conditioned to believe that all roads are paved.
This is not the case here. To have what we have in the states is due to strong infrastructure. Honduras is less able to keep up with the Jones.
As we drove through this beautiful country; a countryside that hosts rain forests, mountains hung with clouds, fields of corn, sugar cain and people. As we drove along we saw shacks and estates. We saw people building cement houses, people selling pineapple, people waiting for the bus, and people with nothing to do. There amongst all of this was the omnipresent reminder of our exported economy. What seemed like every fifteen feet stood an advertisement for Coke or Pepsi. Even as we drove through Progesso, a town begun some time ago to host industry, we saw a river overflowing its banks flooding out a shantitown. There in the middle of the river above the water was a billboard for Pepsi. Its brilliant blue the everpresent reminder of American industry. Interesting metaphor. The people of Honduras underwater. American business above it.
The fact is that American business is everywhere in Honduras. Coke, Pepsi, McDonald's, Friday's, Burger King, Shell, Radio Shack to name a few. Its good for the economy but, the question that came to the forefront as we drove out of Progresso was, for whom? American business in Honduras is helping whom?
I can't say where I heard it. I probably have heard countless times over the course of my life that American business is good because it provides jobs around the world. I would nod my head not really paying attention. It seems like a good idea. Certainly it must help those who are working there, doesn't it?
I began to think about Kentucky Fried Chicken. There is a huge Kentucky Fried Chicken in San Pedro that hosts a three floor play area. It's stunning really. What could be bad about that? As an individual business nothing. For putting out of business local restaurants, a lot. How many local businesses (and in Honduras that can mean a mother who cooks meals out of her house) can not compete with KFC? KFC can literally underprice smaller organizations and even take a loss for a period of time to close the doors of other businesses. I mean we see it in the states. Home Depot puts out of business the local hardware guy. Wallmart put clothing stores and grocery stores out of business. Barnes and Noble put out of business the local bookstore. It is simply the cost of doing business, right? The problem becomes compounded in a country like Honduras. Not only are businesses like KFC closing down smaller businesses in Honduras it then takes the profit that it makes and takes it out of the country. The money does not multiply by going back into the local economy. It gets siphoned off.
What shifted for me was my naivete about the goals of American business. What I began to see in my head was if our economy was a castle. Inside its walls is the king. Inside its walls are the craftsmen and women who keep it clean, fed, and protected. As a castle gains strength it often pushes its fortifications outward. It builds an outwall and post sentries. These sentries become the first line of defense to protect the castle. In an attack these sentries become expendable. Honduras is outpost. It shores up the economic castle that we created.
It's true that Honduras benefits from American Business. It benefits from foreign investment. These things in of themselves are not wrong. What I see more clearly is that we must not forget who benefits from American business. It is America. Let us not blindly believe that we're assisting the development of other economies.
It's economic colonialism. It smacks of exploitation.
As a Christian I am forced to consider if it is just...
Link
The family took the local bus out of San Pedro Sula. It was our first real step away from the home and first step out of the city. There was nothing particularly special about the trip. All we knew was that we wanted to get away. I certainly did not think it would challenge my thinking about what I hear in the states. All I wanted to do was "get away".
Driving through Honduras is difficult. If you have been raised in the states and are used to middle class or upper middle class living then you are culturally conditioned to see relatively clean streets, mowed lawns, and well maintained cars. I also am quite conditioned to believe that all roads are paved.
This is not the case here. To have what we have in the states is due to strong infrastructure. Honduras is less able to keep up with the Jones.
As we drove through this beautiful country; a countryside that hosts rain forests, mountains hung with clouds, fields of corn, sugar cain and people. As we drove along we saw shacks and estates. We saw people building cement houses, people selling pineapple, people waiting for the bus, and people with nothing to do. There amongst all of this was the omnipresent reminder of our exported economy. What seemed like every fifteen feet stood an advertisement for Coke or Pepsi. Even as we drove through Progesso, a town begun some time ago to host industry, we saw a river overflowing its banks flooding out a shantitown. There in the middle of the river above the water was a billboard for Pepsi. Its brilliant blue the everpresent reminder of American industry. Interesting metaphor. The people of Honduras underwater. American business above it.
The fact is that American business is everywhere in Honduras. Coke, Pepsi, McDonald's, Friday's, Burger King, Shell, Radio Shack to name a few. Its good for the economy but, the question that came to the forefront as we drove out of Progresso was, for whom? American business in Honduras is helping whom?
I can't say where I heard it. I probably have heard countless times over the course of my life that American business is good because it provides jobs around the world. I would nod my head not really paying attention. It seems like a good idea. Certainly it must help those who are working there, doesn't it?
I began to think about Kentucky Fried Chicken. There is a huge Kentucky Fried Chicken in San Pedro that hosts a three floor play area. It's stunning really. What could be bad about that? As an individual business nothing. For putting out of business local restaurants, a lot. How many local businesses (and in Honduras that can mean a mother who cooks meals out of her house) can not compete with KFC? KFC can literally underprice smaller organizations and even take a loss for a period of time to close the doors of other businesses. I mean we see it in the states. Home Depot puts out of business the local hardware guy. Wallmart put clothing stores and grocery stores out of business. Barnes and Noble put out of business the local bookstore. It is simply the cost of doing business, right? The problem becomes compounded in a country like Honduras. Not only are businesses like KFC closing down smaller businesses in Honduras it then takes the profit that it makes and takes it out of the country. The money does not multiply by going back into the local economy. It gets siphoned off.
What shifted for me was my naivete about the goals of American business. What I began to see in my head was if our economy was a castle. Inside its walls is the king. Inside its walls are the craftsmen and women who keep it clean, fed, and protected. As a castle gains strength it often pushes its fortifications outward. It builds an outwall and post sentries. These sentries become the first line of defense to protect the castle. In an attack these sentries become expendable. Honduras is outpost. It shores up the economic castle that we created.
It's true that Honduras benefits from American Business. It benefits from foreign investment. These things in of themselves are not wrong. What I see more clearly is that we must not forget who benefits from American business. It is America. Let us not blindly believe that we're assisting the development of other economies.
It's economic colonialism. It smacks of exploitation.
As a Christian I am forced to consider if it is just...
Link
Thursday, July 21, 2005
A horse of a different color
Yesterday was a strange day. It did not have to do with the girls of the home. It did not have to do with travel. Things are simply a little more wild here. Due to our location and the poverty of the area things happen more out in the open. The home is adjacent to the "Levy" an area of squatted land. The girls call it "El Bordo" or the "border". It hinges between those who own land and those who wander. There are gated houses in the neighborhood. There are however no gated communities . It was strange because the latter part of the day was spent trying to help a horse get a cast.
I need to make it clear I was not trying to romantize poverty in the last post. I simply wanted to highlight that it is easy to transfer our cultural ideas on to the cultures that we visit. I certainly lean in the direction of Liberation theology and believe that God can be seen more clearly in poverty due to the lack of obstructions. I don't think God gives preferential treatment to the poor. I believe God can be known by all of us. Wealth is not evil. I do however believe that it quickly becomes idolatrous when we focus on it rather than the relationships that can be formed in "the pueblo". I also believe that we are in danger of loosing community in the United States as we feel more and more threatened by our neighbors. Fear I think is greater than we know and the life of faith often begins with some "angel" announcing "Do not fear." If we lock ourselves away with our stuff it becomes more and more difficult to be approached by "angels" when they come. The opportunity cost may in fact be that we buy out of the very thing that makes life...life. We are losing the public square and even here in Honduras, where every "pueblo" has a physical public square, they too are losing it as they buy into our imported ideal.
Here in "Villa Florencia" it is more difficult to hide away. Many pass by and it is difficult to look the other way. Here the angels are up close. An angel came calling today. He was about 8 and his horse had a broken foot.
About four pm yesterday my son came to the apartment to let me know that Doug needed me. Henny told me, "Doug needs you to help him move the horse." If I had not seen the hurting little colt in the morning my sons statement would of floored me. Although here it is not as shocking to hear such a thing as in the states. We see horses pretty regularly. One evening two came tearing through the street in front of the home. Not far behind were the owners. We see dogs. We see chickens. In Copan we saw cows as we walked into town. Chickens and roosters wander the side streets. I was not surprised though. When we observed the colt in the morning we were visiting with Doug and Christine who live accross the street from the home and Christine's heart went out to the little thing. I knew at that moment that Doug was going to have to do something to help the horse and the boy. Otherwise, there would be no peace.
The boy was no clasic angel. He was grubby. He and his older sister lived in the Levy. They pull trash out of the area for limpera. He also was not that responsible. The colt had been following his mother when the colt "Maya" , was struck by a car. That was five days ago. The boy's family is probably not that great. In the course of the day we found out that the mother did not work and got money by having the children move trash. There is nothing romantic about this. This is hard. We also learned that their neighbors would abuse the horses out of envy. Poverty is not easy. The boy was neither the cherub of Christian greeting cards or the fierce imposing sentinal of the old testament. He was in need. His horse was sick. Christine had been the one to respond.
When I got there to be part of the moving crew the boy and his sister in turns had watched over the colt. We were under the assumption that the Vet was going to show up. A lot can get lost in translation. The vet was only a block and a half. I went over to see what the hold up was. She informed me through her son that she had patients and the horse would have to be brought to her. The colt was about 8o pounds so I asked her advise on how to transport. She gave me a wheelbarrow.
The wheelbarrow would not do. Now, Doug, Henny, and I are as city as it gets. I've never moved a horse and I knew the wheelbarrow would not cut it. Doug began negotiating at the home to use a truck. Thankfully there was one available.
With some pain and whinnies both from the mother and colt we were able to get the horse aboard the pick up. We then set off what was sure to look like the biggest circus in a while. It was certainly the most surreal thing to happen yet. Doug got in the truck with Don Juan the driver. In the pick up was Maya the horse and the boy. Following behind running was me. Henny jogged behind me pushing the wheelbarrow. What made it more commical was that it is a cobblestone road so all I could really hear was the metal wheelbarrow with its wheel bouncing off every stone. Yes, we were a circus.
The block and a half quickly passed. We made it to the vet but we were not done yet. For the next hour and a half the three of us, the driver, the boy, and his sister with the mother horse stood around "Maya". She kicked. She whinied. She almost clocked me in the jaw when she kicked. Eventually however we ended when the cast set. Doug payed the vet and the boy wandered off with his horse.
You never know when angels will appear. Hopefully this one heard the message and will keep the colt off the street for three weeks. We'll see.
I need to make it clear I was not trying to romantize poverty in the last post. I simply wanted to highlight that it is easy to transfer our cultural ideas on to the cultures that we visit. I certainly lean in the direction of Liberation theology and believe that God can be seen more clearly in poverty due to the lack of obstructions. I don't think God gives preferential treatment to the poor. I believe God can be known by all of us. Wealth is not evil. I do however believe that it quickly becomes idolatrous when we focus on it rather than the relationships that can be formed in "the pueblo". I also believe that we are in danger of loosing community in the United States as we feel more and more threatened by our neighbors. Fear I think is greater than we know and the life of faith often begins with some "angel" announcing "Do not fear." If we lock ourselves away with our stuff it becomes more and more difficult to be approached by "angels" when they come. The opportunity cost may in fact be that we buy out of the very thing that makes life...life. We are losing the public square and even here in Honduras, where every "pueblo" has a physical public square, they too are losing it as they buy into our imported ideal.
Here in "Villa Florencia" it is more difficult to hide away. Many pass by and it is difficult to look the other way. Here the angels are up close. An angel came calling today. He was about 8 and his horse had a broken foot.
About four pm yesterday my son came to the apartment to let me know that Doug needed me. Henny told me, "Doug needs you to help him move the horse." If I had not seen the hurting little colt in the morning my sons statement would of floored me. Although here it is not as shocking to hear such a thing as in the states. We see horses pretty regularly. One evening two came tearing through the street in front of the home. Not far behind were the owners. We see dogs. We see chickens. In Copan we saw cows as we walked into town. Chickens and roosters wander the side streets. I was not surprised though. When we observed the colt in the morning we were visiting with Doug and Christine who live accross the street from the home and Christine's heart went out to the little thing. I knew at that moment that Doug was going to have to do something to help the horse and the boy. Otherwise, there would be no peace.
The boy was no clasic angel. He was grubby. He and his older sister lived in the Levy. They pull trash out of the area for limpera. He also was not that responsible. The colt had been following his mother when the colt "Maya" , was struck by a car. That was five days ago. The boy's family is probably not that great. In the course of the day we found out that the mother did not work and got money by having the children move trash. There is nothing romantic about this. This is hard. We also learned that their neighbors would abuse the horses out of envy. Poverty is not easy. The boy was neither the cherub of Christian greeting cards or the fierce imposing sentinal of the old testament. He was in need. His horse was sick. Christine had been the one to respond.
When I got there to be part of the moving crew the boy and his sister in turns had watched over the colt. We were under the assumption that the Vet was going to show up. A lot can get lost in translation. The vet was only a block and a half. I went over to see what the hold up was. She informed me through her son that she had patients and the horse would have to be brought to her. The colt was about 8o pounds so I asked her advise on how to transport. She gave me a wheelbarrow.
The wheelbarrow would not do. Now, Doug, Henny, and I are as city as it gets. I've never moved a horse and I knew the wheelbarrow would not cut it. Doug began negotiating at the home to use a truck. Thankfully there was one available.
With some pain and whinnies both from the mother and colt we were able to get the horse aboard the pick up. We then set off what was sure to look like the biggest circus in a while. It was certainly the most surreal thing to happen yet. Doug got in the truck with Don Juan the driver. In the pick up was Maya the horse and the boy. Following behind running was me. Henny jogged behind me pushing the wheelbarrow. What made it more commical was that it is a cobblestone road so all I could really hear was the metal wheelbarrow with its wheel bouncing off every stone. Yes, we were a circus.
The block and a half quickly passed. We made it to the vet but we were not done yet. For the next hour and a half the three of us, the driver, the boy, and his sister with the mother horse stood around "Maya". She kicked. She whinied. She almost clocked me in the jaw when she kicked. Eventually however we ended when the cast set. Doug payed the vet and the boy wandered off with his horse.
You never know when angels will appear. Hopefully this one heard the message and will keep the colt off the street for three weeks. We'll see.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Out beyond the power lines
Sunday night found us in "Agua Caliente", a hot water spring about an hour out of Copan Ruins. We began the day in San Pedro Sula and were walking through town. We were approached by a gentleman who asked if we would like to see the springs.
We went.
The experience itself was a good one. We were driving out in pick up truck and told that by foot we could make to El Salvador in an hour. We drove past small towns of 4 and 5 houses. We drove over rivers. We climed and decended two passes. As a family we were able to enjoy something that should remain in memory for a long time. It is one thing to be in Western Honduras. It is quite another to be deep into the countryside in a hot spring.
We returned.
I think it will be the ride home that I hope that will remain with me the most. Dark had begun to settle in as we left the hot spring and began making our way back to Copan. The children were falling asleep which allowed me time to simply look.
We were climbing on of the many hills. In the dark there were two small children (5 maybe 6 years old) who were barefoot up this rocky dirt road. They were walking as fast as they could to try a third child maybe 30 feet farther up the hill. This little girl was trying to keep pace with who I could only guess was her mother. The mother was 10-15 feet ahead and as we slowed to pass I saw was carrying a baby. This was no little hill. She barely looked up. Her focus was on each step.
What struck me was not "poor woman" or even guilt over my being in the truck. (This often happened early in our trip here.) What hit me was that this woman, who lives in a very remote part of the world, does not worry about not having health insurance. What hit me was not my Western transference on her, "Oh, how does she live with out health insurance" (while wringing ones hands) but simply "she does not worry about not having health insurance." I'm not implying that this woman, who I will never be able to go back and ask, does not have worries. She does. I'm sure she worries about the children that she has in tow. I'm sure she worries about daily bread. She may worry about the upkeep of the house and how she is received at the local church.
What struck me was not so much about her but about me. Health Insurance is a big deal in the states. I could not be at seminary with out health insurance. In fact, of the $50k that will be spent by my family of five this year between rent, food, children, and school costs almost 15% of that will go to insurance. It is probable that I will spend more on health insurance this year than the net income of the small village that she is from. That is crazy!
What is so crazy about it is that at first glance I could begin to congratulate myself for being so blessed to have the money. Initially I think this happens with a lot of American's who come through to see Honduras. We come and see the lack of resources and cross ourselves and thank God for providing. I think however that God is calling us to go deeper.
Now, I am all for insurance. In theory it makes sense. The corporate body each pays a little so that the individual if he or she needs it can be protected. So we buy insurance to cover our health. We also buy insurance to cover our cars. We buy life insurance to cover our spouses. We buy home insurance to cover our lenders.
As we drove along long after we passed her,what came to the surface was the realization that we are killing ourselves to never get a scratch. We are living in fear that some grand event will happen to us and destroy us. If we don't pay we might get some disease. If we don't pay we will go broke due to costs. If we don't pay the house will burn down or Jimmy will go blind. I think this fear of tommorrow, these atrocities we are protecting us from, are starting to eat into our ability to live. To avoid these events we continue to fortify, protect, insure, immunize, disinfect, and blocade so as not to get hurt. In the process we shutting ourselves off from each other.
In the process we become scared to live with out it. We want to insure that we will never get hurt. Life simply will not allow that.
And what about the deeper costs. What about the cost of not being able to depend on your neighbors? Are we as close to people as we would like to be? Have we lost something in the states when we all seek to go it alone by making pocketfuls of money so that we can individually, as best as we are able, provide, save, protect without ever having to depend on anyone else. I think Martin Luther King Jr. said it best. He said "The more wealth you have the less commonwealth." I can not even imagine what we lose when we are unable to reach out to one another because we are chasing the dollar to pay the bills. We are working our selves to death so we can have the insurance, the cars, the mortgages, to be able to live without ever being held accountable to the larger society. And we're doing it so that the neighbors who we don't really know will be impressed with how "well" we're doing.
Now I'm just guessing that this woman climbing this back country road does not want to get hurt. This makes her even with every other person on the planet. What may seperate us is that she probably has two things that we are losing in our culture. Now this is only a guess but if she gets hurt I bet that those persons of her village would seek to take care of her. Family would show up or neighbors would help watch her children. The second is also just a guess but I believe that she has a relationship in which she trusts her God. As she has lived her life she has had to share what she has with those around her. Time and time again "Daily Bread" has shown up. I believe that God is more evident to those who have less not because they are any better but because they see the miracles more. With less to block their vision they are less likely to congratulate themselves for "forward thinking" and turn to our God who does make a way out of no way. They see the miracles because they continue to eat and live and breathe.
Who then is the richer? Us who spend 15% of our income protecting ourselves from disaster or they who may not be able to even fathom why we have it?
Link
We went.
The experience itself was a good one. We were driving out in pick up truck and told that by foot we could make to El Salvador in an hour. We drove past small towns of 4 and 5 houses. We drove over rivers. We climed and decended two passes. As a family we were able to enjoy something that should remain in memory for a long time. It is one thing to be in Western Honduras. It is quite another to be deep into the countryside in a hot spring.
We returned.
I think it will be the ride home that I hope that will remain with me the most. Dark had begun to settle in as we left the hot spring and began making our way back to Copan. The children were falling asleep which allowed me time to simply look.
We were climbing on of the many hills. In the dark there were two small children (5 maybe 6 years old) who were barefoot up this rocky dirt road. They were walking as fast as they could to try a third child maybe 30 feet farther up the hill. This little girl was trying to keep pace with who I could only guess was her mother. The mother was 10-15 feet ahead and as we slowed to pass I saw was carrying a baby. This was no little hill. She barely looked up. Her focus was on each step.
What struck me was not "poor woman" or even guilt over my being in the truck. (This often happened early in our trip here.) What hit me was that this woman, who lives in a very remote part of the world, does not worry about not having health insurance. What hit me was not my Western transference on her, "Oh, how does she live with out health insurance" (while wringing ones hands) but simply "she does not worry about not having health insurance." I'm not implying that this woman, who I will never be able to go back and ask, does not have worries. She does. I'm sure she worries about the children that she has in tow. I'm sure she worries about daily bread. She may worry about the upkeep of the house and how she is received at the local church.
What struck me was not so much about her but about me. Health Insurance is a big deal in the states. I could not be at seminary with out health insurance. In fact, of the $50k that will be spent by my family of five this year between rent, food, children, and school costs almost 15% of that will go to insurance. It is probable that I will spend more on health insurance this year than the net income of the small village that she is from. That is crazy!
What is so crazy about it is that at first glance I could begin to congratulate myself for being so blessed to have the money. Initially I think this happens with a lot of American's who come through to see Honduras. We come and see the lack of resources and cross ourselves and thank God for providing. I think however that God is calling us to go deeper.
Now, I am all for insurance. In theory it makes sense. The corporate body each pays a little so that the individual if he or she needs it can be protected. So we buy insurance to cover our health. We also buy insurance to cover our cars. We buy life insurance to cover our spouses. We buy home insurance to cover our lenders.
As we drove along long after we passed her,what came to the surface was the realization that we are killing ourselves to never get a scratch. We are living in fear that some grand event will happen to us and destroy us. If we don't pay we might get some disease. If we don't pay we will go broke due to costs. If we don't pay the house will burn down or Jimmy will go blind. I think this fear of tommorrow, these atrocities we are protecting us from, are starting to eat into our ability to live. To avoid these events we continue to fortify, protect, insure, immunize, disinfect, and blocade so as not to get hurt. In the process we shutting ourselves off from each other.
In the process we become scared to live with out it. We want to insure that we will never get hurt. Life simply will not allow that.
And what about the deeper costs. What about the cost of not being able to depend on your neighbors? Are we as close to people as we would like to be? Have we lost something in the states when we all seek to go it alone by making pocketfuls of money so that we can individually, as best as we are able, provide, save, protect without ever having to depend on anyone else. I think Martin Luther King Jr. said it best. He said "The more wealth you have the less commonwealth." I can not even imagine what we lose when we are unable to reach out to one another because we are chasing the dollar to pay the bills. We are working our selves to death so we can have the insurance, the cars, the mortgages, to be able to live without ever being held accountable to the larger society. And we're doing it so that the neighbors who we don't really know will be impressed with how "well" we're doing.
Now I'm just guessing that this woman climbing this back country road does not want to get hurt. This makes her even with every other person on the planet. What may seperate us is that she probably has two things that we are losing in our culture. Now this is only a guess but if she gets hurt I bet that those persons of her village would seek to take care of her. Family would show up or neighbors would help watch her children. The second is also just a guess but I believe that she has a relationship in which she trusts her God. As she has lived her life she has had to share what she has with those around her. Time and time again "Daily Bread" has shown up. I believe that God is more evident to those who have less not because they are any better but because they see the miracles more. With less to block their vision they are less likely to congratulate themselves for "forward thinking" and turn to our God who does make a way out of no way. They see the miracles because they continue to eat and live and breathe.
Who then is the richer? Us who spend 15% of our income protecting ourselves from disaster or they who may not be able to even fathom why we have it?
Link
Sunday, July 10, 2005
For future visitors- Costs to consider
So you are thinking of coming to Our Little Roses Ministry? Of course you are.
As a volunteer or short term missioner like ourselves (week mission to say, three months) the most important thing is to negotiate a space to live. At present the volunteer coordinator is Neik. Neik is a very good soul. He is from the Netherlands and a decent soccer player. At present there are six places to stay if you are coming to mission. If you can, I recommend staying on the grounds of the home. It can at times cause one to feel a bit restrained but it is worthwhile because it allows one to know at a greater depth what it like to live in this situation. The first two living options are here on site. There is the dorm which can house up to 30 people. It has cable, air conditioning, showers and a common room. The second on-site option is the apartment. This is where we are. We call it the "Honduran Hilton" because it is surprisingly comfortable. (OLR does not believe that missionaries are required to wear hair shirts!) It has a kitchen, living area (that we double as our bedroom), bathroom with hot shower, and bedroom (where the kids stay). The apartment also has cable, a DVD player, and internet access.
Just off site and in the neighborhood of OLR is a house that is currently being rented by missionaries and the "Volunteer" apartments (A house with 4 or 5 rooms). Both are well maintained.
The last two options are to either stay at the Hospitality House or one of the nicer hotels in San Pedro Sula. These last two options are a bit more expensive and will require more travel to and from the home. Many have opted for this and arrangements can be made to accommodate.
In making any decisions about staying on-site or in one of living spaces under the ministry's care one should realize two things: A.) this does help the home in bringing in revenue and B.) they are fair in their costs. We have been treated fairly.
(Not everything is available all the time so where you stay will have to be arranged. Both Mayra and Neik here at the home are the best contacts when making plans.)
A couple other costs that one should be prepared to pay if your trip follows anything like ours:
- A cost that I did not anticipate was the cost of accessing money. It is true that ATM's are relatively easy to access. That is a good thing. The thing I learned is that taking money out of an account will cost you $6 to $8 dollars every time. So if you are here for nine weeks and you take out money every week it will cost you $54 to $72. If I were going to stay over a month again I would set up a bank account in Honduras to avoid extra fee's.
- There is an exit fee to leave Honduras that costs $32 per person.
- If you stay over thirty days you will be required to "extend" your visa by paying a fee of about $20 per person. For five it does add up.
-Local laundry service for two adults and three children has been about $10 (180 L) a week. It's hot and dusty here so clothes get dirty.
-We arranged to have our lunch and dinner with the girls (the best way to get to know them) and paid $2.50 (45L) a meal per person.
- You can buy most things at a local supermarket (Paiz). We supplement our meals with breakfast, vegetables, snacks etc. Food is a little cheaper here but one should expect similar prices to the United States. We have been buying about $30-$45 a week.
-The easiest way to get around town is by taxi. There is a taxi stand two blocks away. Rate to supermarket and town center is currently about 40 L (just over $2.50). One must negotiate and having a native speaker (my wife) makes this easier. If you have a lot of people with you or are going farther out say like the multiplaza(The Mall), expect to pay more. Be warned, you must negotiate. If you look pale like myself (ie a non Hispanic American) taxi's will automatically ask about 20 to 30L more. One should try to include a travel budget of $10 to $15 a week to get around the city San Pedro Sula.
- Getting around the country is also an experience to not be missed. Some of my best looks at Honduras have taken place on the more local bus lines. Many Westerners utilize the executive bus line Hedman- Alas ($13 or 240L one way per person). It is more comfortable with AC and movies. We may utilize for a trip to the famed Mayan ruins at Copan (it's three hours from SPS). We've taken two trips and took the more local buses. They are loud and rough around the edges. Unless it is raining the windows are kept open. When going to different cities always look for the "directo". Otherwise you will make many more stops than desired. To go to Tela (on North Coast) we took "Trasul" bus line. We paid 60L PP (180L total) ( $10 one way) for my eldest, my wife and I combined. The little ones were free. It is about an hour and a half trip. We went to Omoa to see the Fortress. It was built in the 1700's and is impressive. To go to Omoa we took "Citrul" bus line. This was a smaller buses and was crowded. For the hour ride we paid 24L PP or 96 L total. That's about $5. On the Omoa trip we had to change to an even more local bus outside of Puerto Cortes. This was the most "local" yet. It was an old school bus and was incredibly crowded. Only 40L for all us one way ($2). Both "Citrul" and "Trasul" are downtown in San Pedro Sula. (Don't forget your taxi fare to the bus station and back and taxi service in towns!)
Our costs have been more than we expected but, God will continue to show up. It is not easy doing this on a seminarian budget but well worth it. I write all this for those who are writing grants. My inner miser keeps showing up and I have to beat him back with the man of faith and the realist who knows that while I don't know the future this may be our only opportunity to get to know the people and country.
As a volunteer or short term missioner like ourselves (week mission to say, three months) the most important thing is to negotiate a space to live. At present the volunteer coordinator is Neik. Neik is a very good soul. He is from the Netherlands and a decent soccer player. At present there are six places to stay if you are coming to mission. If you can, I recommend staying on the grounds of the home. It can at times cause one to feel a bit restrained but it is worthwhile because it allows one to know at a greater depth what it like to live in this situation. The first two living options are here on site. There is the dorm which can house up to 30 people. It has cable, air conditioning, showers and a common room. The second on-site option is the apartment. This is where we are. We call it the "Honduran Hilton" because it is surprisingly comfortable. (OLR does not believe that missionaries are required to wear hair shirts!) It has a kitchen, living area (that we double as our bedroom), bathroom with hot shower, and bedroom (where the kids stay). The apartment also has cable, a DVD player, and internet access.
Just off site and in the neighborhood of OLR is a house that is currently being rented by missionaries and the "Volunteer" apartments (A house with 4 or 5 rooms). Both are well maintained.
The last two options are to either stay at the Hospitality House or one of the nicer hotels in San Pedro Sula. These last two options are a bit more expensive and will require more travel to and from the home. Many have opted for this and arrangements can be made to accommodate.
In making any decisions about staying on-site or in one of living spaces under the ministry's care one should realize two things: A.) this does help the home in bringing in revenue and B.) they are fair in their costs. We have been treated fairly.
(Not everything is available all the time so where you stay will have to be arranged. Both Mayra and Neik here at the home are the best contacts when making plans.)
A couple other costs that one should be prepared to pay if your trip follows anything like ours:
- A cost that I did not anticipate was the cost of accessing money. It is true that ATM's are relatively easy to access. That is a good thing. The thing I learned is that taking money out of an account will cost you $6 to $8 dollars every time. So if you are here for nine weeks and you take out money every week it will cost you $54 to $72. If I were going to stay over a month again I would set up a bank account in Honduras to avoid extra fee's.
- There is an exit fee to leave Honduras that costs $32 per person.
- If you stay over thirty days you will be required to "extend" your visa by paying a fee of about $20 per person. For five it does add up.
-Local laundry service for two adults and three children has been about $10 (180 L) a week. It's hot and dusty here so clothes get dirty.
-We arranged to have our lunch and dinner with the girls (the best way to get to know them) and paid $2.50 (45L) a meal per person.
- You can buy most things at a local supermarket (Paiz). We supplement our meals with breakfast, vegetables, snacks etc. Food is a little cheaper here but one should expect similar prices to the United States. We have been buying about $30-$45 a week.
-The easiest way to get around town is by taxi. There is a taxi stand two blocks away. Rate to supermarket and town center is currently about 40 L (just over $2.50). One must negotiate and having a native speaker (my wife) makes this easier. If you have a lot of people with you or are going farther out say like the multiplaza(The Mall), expect to pay more. Be warned, you must negotiate. If you look pale like myself (ie a non Hispanic American) taxi's will automatically ask about 20 to 30L more. One should try to include a travel budget of $10 to $15 a week to get around the city San Pedro Sula.
- Getting around the country is also an experience to not be missed. Some of my best looks at Honduras have taken place on the more local bus lines. Many Westerners utilize the executive bus line Hedman- Alas ($13 or 240L one way per person). It is more comfortable with AC and movies. We may utilize for a trip to the famed Mayan ruins at Copan (it's three hours from SPS). We've taken two trips and took the more local buses. They are loud and rough around the edges. Unless it is raining the windows are kept open. When going to different cities always look for the "directo". Otherwise you will make many more stops than desired. To go to Tela (on North Coast) we took "Trasul" bus line. We paid 60L PP (180L total) ( $10 one way) for my eldest, my wife and I combined. The little ones were free. It is about an hour and a half trip. We went to Omoa to see the Fortress. It was built in the 1700's and is impressive. To go to Omoa we took "Citrul" bus line. This was a smaller buses and was crowded. For the hour ride we paid 24L PP or 96 L total. That's about $5. On the Omoa trip we had to change to an even more local bus outside of Puerto Cortes. This was the most "local" yet. It was an old school bus and was incredibly crowded. Only 40L for all us one way ($2). Both "Citrul" and "Trasul" are downtown in San Pedro Sula. (Don't forget your taxi fare to the bus station and back and taxi service in towns!)
Our costs have been more than we expected but, God will continue to show up. It is not easy doing this on a seminarian budget but well worth it. I write all this for those who are writing grants. My inner miser keeps showing up and I have to beat him back with the man of faith and the realist who knows that while I don't know the future this may be our only opportunity to get to know the people and country.
Friday, July 08, 2005
Practice, practice, practica
A friend of mine in Miami made the comment that I would learn espanol quicker if I was writing in the language. He castigated me for writing in English. He's right of course. The language comes with practice. I am however beginning to catch on.
Ariel is my profesor. (O Mi profesor es Ariel.) Hoy me preguntio hacer copias. Today he asked me to make some copies. Doesn't that just sound like a teacher? Anyway, I went to make copies in the home's main office. While my Spanish is better it still very rough but I managed to negotiate with the office staff for the copy machine. It was not that they were mean about it. It simply is dificil to understand my Spanish. Yet I got there.
Next to the copy machine was a bookshelf. As I began to make copies I noticed an open bilingual bible. One one side was the English and the other el espanol. Providently enough it was opened to Salmo 23 (23rd Psalm). Now one might start thinking synchronicity and one might be right yet finding the Bible open to the 23rd Psalm is really not all that unusual. If there was a Bible greatest hits album, Psalm 23 would be on it. No the synchronicity kicks in later.
The copy machine was not all that fast and I had to make double copies for every page. This took awhile so I began to try and read Psalm 22. As I worked down the page I would get some words and phrases but often had to check the English. I was pleased as I was able to get more than I missed. Then I made it to 22:24. As I read I understood "porque". I understood " El'". I understood that the verb "desprecia" was despise. To my amazement I was able to read the first part of the verse without looking at the English.
This may not seem much to you but it was an accomplishment for me. And here is where the synchronicity kicks in. I was understanding exactly what was happening to me and the girls of this home. The line was significant because around me, as worn around the edges the girls and the home sometimes is, was the message that I was reading. This home is testimony of the great fact being expressed in Psalm 22 and specifically in verse 24.
It reads "porque EL no desprecia ni tiene en poco el sufrimiento del pobre" "because He does not disdain nor is small to the sufferings of the poor."
Our God is a big God. Yes He uses even the mundane moments like making copies. The poor he does not send away and we are to witness to that great fact.
Ariel is my profesor. (O Mi profesor es Ariel.) Hoy me preguntio hacer copias. Today he asked me to make some copies. Doesn't that just sound like a teacher? Anyway, I went to make copies in the home's main office. While my Spanish is better it still very rough but I managed to negotiate with the office staff for the copy machine. It was not that they were mean about it. It simply is dificil to understand my Spanish. Yet I got there.
Next to the copy machine was a bookshelf. As I began to make copies I noticed an open bilingual bible. One one side was the English and the other el espanol. Providently enough it was opened to Salmo 23 (23rd Psalm). Now one might start thinking synchronicity and one might be right yet finding the Bible open to the 23rd Psalm is really not all that unusual. If there was a Bible greatest hits album, Psalm 23 would be on it. No the synchronicity kicks in later.
The copy machine was not all that fast and I had to make double copies for every page. This took awhile so I began to try and read Psalm 22. As I worked down the page I would get some words and phrases but often had to check the English. I was pleased as I was able to get more than I missed. Then I made it to 22:24. As I read I understood "porque". I understood " El'". I understood that the verb "desprecia" was despise. To my amazement I was able to read the first part of the verse without looking at the English.
This may not seem much to you but it was an accomplishment for me. And here is where the synchronicity kicks in. I was understanding exactly what was happening to me and the girls of this home. The line was significant because around me, as worn around the edges the girls and the home sometimes is, was the message that I was reading. This home is testimony of the great fact being expressed in Psalm 22 and specifically in verse 24.
It reads "porque EL no desprecia ni tiene en poco el sufrimiento del pobre" "because He does not disdain nor is small to the sufferings of the poor."
Our God is a big God. Yes He uses even the mundane moments like making copies. The poor he does not send away and we are to witness to that great fact.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
To fill a gap, start digging.
Next door to Our Little Roses is a piece of land with 6 or 7 small homes on it. From the second floor stairwell where our apartment sits we can look over the wall to observe the homes and the land of the compound. I was to find out tonight that the compound houses the blind.
So on one side of us sits this home site for the blind. On the other is a home for the mentally ill which is run by the Sisters of Charity (Mother Teresa). Behind us is the levy which is essentially a squatter town. Our Little Roses is a mission amongst the poorest of the poor. Being from the West one imagines what living amongst the poorest of poor feels like. To be honest, it is not all that different from Alexandria VA, Washington DC, or Plantation Fl. It is simply not that pretty. Aesthetically it bombards the senses. Walls with Barb wire; trash; gates; broken stone; backed up water; potholes; and to our immense enjoyment over the last couple of days two dead dogs baking in the sun. Someone had thankfully put lime on it so what we got was infinitely better than what it could have been. Definitely, this area is not pretty.
Yet the reason that one does not feel all that different is that it is still inhabited by people. People are people. You see mother's with their children. There are homes with cars and people who work. Down the way I'm able to buy a coke or milk at the local Pulperia. (Think 7-11 in someone's house with out any slurpee's.) Up the way we can pick up a local cab. There are soccer games at the local football field. There was a marriage at the home this weekend. Regardless of where you go there we are. We all have the all the basic needs. We want our children to grow up healthy. We want to eat good food. We want our houses to be secure. So here we are amongst the poorest of the poor and the reality is that it is not all that different.
The reason I began by describing the compound next door is that from our viewpoint on the second floor we can see the houses but also the pool of slimy green water which has yet to be filled in. It's the kind of thing that makes you want to take your Malaria pill. Doug, the missioner from SE Florida, informed me that when he first started coming down here the compound next door was only about half the size it is now and that they had filled in an incredible portion to make it habitable. So what we have been looking at had been a lot less habitable. While I was thinking that what I was looking at a half empty cup it actually was half full. People had come before me to make order out of chaos. In fact, I was to find that a lot of the area had been swampy like the back corner of the lot. The grounds Our Little Roses is on was once a lot like the compound next door. Quite literally they have set a foundation that others are building off of.
In light of all that I began to think of what has been created here. I remembered what a visiting doctor mentioned to me on our second day. His group had come to consider a mission. He was a medical doctor and told me that Honduras has a high rate of cervical cancer and deaths that result from cervical cancer. What frustrates him and many others is that dying from cervical cancer is preventable by Pap Smear. The difficulty he recounted was not in getting medical treatment to Honduras. The difficulty is in having the infrastructure to reach the women. He brought up a good point. Why would any impoverished local woman trust an American doctor in Honduras if he or she showed up? What is so lacking is infrastructure and trust.
The doctor then brought to light the incredible feat that had been accomplished with Our Little Roses. It is not just what they are doing with the girls but it is the buildings, transportation, secure area, local connections that could make it a site where local people could be treated. Doctors, if they came to treat would be able to utilize the public trust in reaching a lot more people than they could on their own. In a country that suffers from lack of infrastructure, Our Little Roses can provide that wider support..
The miracle of this place is more than the care and development of the girls. It is the establishment of needed structure that is not afraid to share itself with those who do not have the means to pay. Like the filled in pool next door, this place has, stone by stone, brick by brick, child by child created a structure that is in fact changing the world.
So on one side of us sits this home site for the blind. On the other is a home for the mentally ill which is run by the Sisters of Charity (Mother Teresa). Behind us is the levy which is essentially a squatter town. Our Little Roses is a mission amongst the poorest of the poor. Being from the West one imagines what living amongst the poorest of poor feels like. To be honest, it is not all that different from Alexandria VA, Washington DC, or Plantation Fl. It is simply not that pretty. Aesthetically it bombards the senses. Walls with Barb wire; trash; gates; broken stone; backed up water; potholes; and to our immense enjoyment over the last couple of days two dead dogs baking in the sun. Someone had thankfully put lime on it so what we got was infinitely better than what it could have been. Definitely, this area is not pretty.
Yet the reason that one does not feel all that different is that it is still inhabited by people. People are people. You see mother's with their children. There are homes with cars and people who work. Down the way I'm able to buy a coke or milk at the local Pulperia. (Think 7-11 in someone's house with out any slurpee's.) Up the way we can pick up a local cab. There are soccer games at the local football field. There was a marriage at the home this weekend. Regardless of where you go there we are. We all have the all the basic needs. We want our children to grow up healthy. We want to eat good food. We want our houses to be secure. So here we are amongst the poorest of the poor and the reality is that it is not all that different.
The reason I began by describing the compound next door is that from our viewpoint on the second floor we can see the houses but also the pool of slimy green water which has yet to be filled in. It's the kind of thing that makes you want to take your Malaria pill. Doug, the missioner from SE Florida, informed me that when he first started coming down here the compound next door was only about half the size it is now and that they had filled in an incredible portion to make it habitable. So what we have been looking at had been a lot less habitable. While I was thinking that what I was looking at a half empty cup it actually was half full. People had come before me to make order out of chaos. In fact, I was to find that a lot of the area had been swampy like the back corner of the lot. The grounds Our Little Roses is on was once a lot like the compound next door. Quite literally they have set a foundation that others are building off of.
In light of all that I began to think of what has been created here. I remembered what a visiting doctor mentioned to me on our second day. His group had come to consider a mission. He was a medical doctor and told me that Honduras has a high rate of cervical cancer and deaths that result from cervical cancer. What frustrates him and many others is that dying from cervical cancer is preventable by Pap Smear. The difficulty he recounted was not in getting medical treatment to Honduras. The difficulty is in having the infrastructure to reach the women. He brought up a good point. Why would any impoverished local woman trust an American doctor in Honduras if he or she showed up? What is so lacking is infrastructure and trust.
The doctor then brought to light the incredible feat that had been accomplished with Our Little Roses. It is not just what they are doing with the girls but it is the buildings, transportation, secure area, local connections that could make it a site where local people could be treated. Doctors, if they came to treat would be able to utilize the public trust in reaching a lot more people than they could on their own. In a country that suffers from lack of infrastructure, Our Little Roses can provide that wider support..
The miracle of this place is more than the care and development of the girls. It is the establishment of needed structure that is not afraid to share itself with those who do not have the means to pay. Like the filled in pool next door, this place has, stone by stone, brick by brick, child by child created a structure that is in fact changing the world.
