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...