Storytime with Lucky

School let out early because of the unbearable heat. Intending to go sit in the hammock and enjoy the breeze while I typed up homework, I step out of the kitchen house, coffee mug of hot tea in one hand, water bottle in the other. I see my 7 year old student Tony seated on an old ripped up tire laying by the road in front of the house, tears dripping from his long black lashes. I go and sit beside him. “My brother left me for the canalito," he whimpered. The canalito, or 'little canal", is a small channel of water that runs along the road and fields commonly used to wash clothes, bathe and swim in to escape the heat. “I’m sorry Tony.” “My brother, and Abi, and Kathy. They go to the canalito. But I, no,” he explained to me in his broken English. He stared longingly at the field across the way. After further conversation, I asked him about his sister Doylin who I hadn’t seen in a while. “She is with my mother. My mother is no here.” He threw a small rock into the ...

As much as I wish I could say that the totality of my identity is in Christ, it would not be true.  Much of my identity and who I am is because of my family and culture that I grew up with. The same is probably true for you. But stop and imagine with me for a moment.  Imagine your culture is trash.  Imagine your family is Trash.  Trash is your very identity.  You were born into trash, trash provided your life, sustained your life, IS your life.  You live in and work in trash.  You eat trash.  You drink it.  The trash clothes you, provides your shelter.  It is all you have ever known.  It's where you were born and where you grew up.  It's where you were running as a child, fell and scraped your knee, and ran to your mother to kiss away the tears.  It's where your brother tickled you til your sides hurt.  It's where most painful memories and joyous moments occurred. It's where you had your first crush.  It's wher...

I hopped out of the truck and stood still, full of excitement mixed with curiosity and anticipation and a dash of panic   after we'd parked near the top of this mountain of trash that is the San Pedro Sula landfill .  Glancing around I absorbed my surroundings; squinting in the incredibly bright sunlight, wisps of hair waving in the wind. There was no natural protection from the sun and it bore down on us intensely despite the relative coolness of the midday heat.   The villagers trickled down towards us, the shape of their bodies entering my vision as they  rose up over the horizon  or exited obscure homes that blended into the landscape.  One of our party announced our arrival over the loudspeaker and even more trickled down, lining up in front of the truck.  We prayed over the food, then distributed it.  The community received their food in orderly lines, taking their meals and water quietly with an occasional smile and a rare "Gracias", d...

With a swirl of dust the white truck passed us as we drove along the track leaving El Doradito.  A shriek chortled out from the bed of the truck as it flew by.  The three passengers bounced and jolted along and I recognized Enrique who waved and hollered at us, his chop of black hair flopping in the wind.  We caught up to the truck.  "Where are you going?!" Enrique hollered over the sound of the engine, leaning as far out of the truck bed as he could manage as we passed them again.  We turned off the dirt road onto cement and fell in line behind a small blue Ford pickup whose bed and cab were loaded to the axles with 15 some odd men returning from work in the cane fields. Enrique and I Arriving at the stop sign before the highway he leaped from the bed of the truck and ran alongside Debora's car, tapping on the windows.  "Where are you going?" He repeated. We gave him a ride to La Lima, dropping him off alone at a corner so he could walk the rest of...

The roar of fire could be heard even from the village. Armed with shovels and flashlights and sticks and headlights they strode the half mile down the dusty road toward the light flickering in the distance.  The excitement was almost tangible.  Beams danced hither and fro as they marched. The flames lapped the night sky, turning the darkness bright as day.  The crackle and roar was almost deafening.  The fire drew them in, a beckoning.  But then in a moment rose to greater life and power and sent them away; the flames leaping even higher to the sky and the ash and sparks and leaves aflame came hurtling back to the ground in greater numbers.  They retreated in awe to the road. Once to the road, they waited with feet spread apart, crouching in readiness for the war to begin.  The first of many darted out and was killed in an instant.  Then another, and another!  The rats and mice, driven by the fire from their homes in the sug...

Sweaty hand on sweaty arm. Smiles. Evening cuddles. Bloody shins. Mosquitoes. She sits beside me and listens to the soft murmurings as I speak on the phone in a language she cannot understand. She stands, then stoops to eat a fruit loop dropped in the sand.  Mother says there will be no food tomorrow.  Then the crunch of gravel and whining of wheels as the bicycle fades away.  Only me and the loud silence of my thoughts remain.

A group of us walked to the neighboring village of La Sabana to purchase some fruit and stopped at an ice cream shop on the way back.  Justin overpaid by 3 Limpera (the equivalent of about USD$0.13) and the next morning received this thoughtful note.  I'm thinking she needs a different translator though. 😏 Thanks and a thousand arguments.

Do You See Me Now? --- Proverbs 21:13 Whoever shuts their ears to the cry of the poor will also cry out and not be answered. --- Do you see me as I jump into your arms?  Watch me laugh as I sprint across the courtyard! Do you see me? Do you see me as I swing?  I can go so high!  My dirty little feet can almost touch the sky! Do you see me? Do you see me as I slip on down the slide?  It is fast and it is fun. Do you see me? Do you see me eat the candy?  The taste is very fine.  My grinning mouth is smeared with sugar. Do you see me? Do you see that courtyard?  There is trash all over.  Criss crosses from the rain cut through sand to reveal the muddy dirt. Do you see it? Do you see the swing?  The chains are rough and rusted and only the sun-hot metal frame of the wooden seat remains. Do you see it? Do you know that the slide is cracked here and there and there?  It cuts my arm a bit. Do you see it...

Trekking through muddy pasture trails, behind concrete village homes and through barbed wire fences, dodging the soggiest spots in a near vain attempt to maintain dry shoes, we made our way to the “jail cell” situated behind a sugar cane field about a half mile from our dorm.  An 8 foot tall barred and bolted concrete room containing pipes and electrical wires, we hoisted ourselves on the cement roof. Now standing above the sugar cane, we had a full view of the surrounding valley. Mountains dotted the skyline; the clouds encasing the nearest while blurring the distant ones. A cool breeze skurried through the tops of the cane and ran through our hair, cooling us and peacefully whisking away the heat and stress of the day. We sat there on the roof for 40 odd minutes, filling the quiet with stories and issues from the day and the semester.  Beckoned home too soon, we returned home to just miss the sunset. I munched on a stick of cane on the walk home. I will see the sun...

“Beware!  He is coming!  The man is coming with a machete!  Close the door!”  They laughed pointing at an old man some distance away.  Not taking them seriously, I glanced at the man down the street, glanced at the boys and then went inside my dorm. “Close the door! Close the door!  The drunk man is coming!”  They hollered as they dashed in the neighboring kitchen house, slamming the door behind them.  I did not close my door, but grabbed my laptop as I had intended and walked back outside to sit in the rocking chair to type this up. I had only just seated myself when sure enough, a man walked around the corner of the kitchen house waving a machete, yelling angrily.   A torrent of angry Spanish fell from his lips as he expressed his evidently machete-grade annoyance.  I understood a scattered word or two but “Dos ninos!”, or, Two boys!,  was repeated more than once.   I calmly remarked, “No habla Espanol.” ...

Today I arrived in Honduras. The past year has been such a whirlwind, but the past month has made that whirlwind look like a gentle summer breeze. Thus, as the story on how my trip to Honduras came about has ill been told, I tell it now. It seems a fitting first post to this blog. I've been struck most by how God has brought me through this year, and how he has weaved so many components together to bring me to where I am today. It has been an incredibly frustrating year for me. I've been chomping at the bit for months. Impatient and frustrated. I did not utilize my time well. I did not even come close to making the most of every opportunity. I did not fight with purpose. My attitude in 2016 could well be likened to a leashed dog sicced in a room on a herd of cats. Lots of scrambling and yowling and frustration but no one really doing anything except burning a lot of energy, leaving everyone as tired and frustrated as before. Not entirely knowing what I was doing at...