my momma

As some of you know already my momma was here visiting for 10 glorious days. I relished in the fact that even for just a little bit I was able to share with my momma this new place in my world that has so completely captured my heart. For just a few days my two worlds were able to collide ...and I like that!:)

Once again

My next story may seem familiar to some of you. It has to do with a certain blue beast named Gracie, (our van) a loud pop, a lot of pushing, and A LOT of laughter. Seeing as how we have so many helping hands around here right now some of us were able to slip away to meet up with a group at Santa Lucia for their devotional time. We packed in Gracie, turned up the tunes, and headed for our destination. We were almost there when suddenly …oh yes there was a very loud bang that sounded as if we had run over something. Then the sounds started…the hissing, groaning, grinding noise that sounds as though Gracie has just broken out in song only to find that NO ONE else is singing. As the sounds grew louder and the smoke began billowing out around the car we came to realize that it was best to pull over. This was a treat in itself seeing as how there were 7 adults and 3 children, it was well past dusk, and we were parked in front of a gate plastered with signs that said: danger! …do not enter …caution…and other such warnings. However, you would have thought they read “gringos eaten here” by the way everyone was freaking! Used to Gracie’s song and dance Jen, JT, and I began the normal routine. We got the water out of the back, flipped the seat up, (the engine and whatever else goes along with all that is found under the front seat) and began the process of cooling her down. Once we accomplished this task we were able to start her back up and make it the last few miles to the church. We were only about 15 minutes late and thoroughly enjoyed our time worshipping with the group. As it came time to leave we decided it would be best to put more water in the car and refill our water supply …just in case. We made it into the city where we stopped to eat dinner. It was around 11:30 as we all piled back into Gracie and headed back up the mountain for home. We had made it about 20 minutes out of the city when the noise began again. The problem was we had put the other jug of water in before starting up the mountain so we had NO water at all in the van with us. So as the noises grew louder our prayers became more prevalent. However, within minutes the van began to slow and it became quite obvious that we weren’t going to make it home. Pulling over once again we really began to pray for answers. This is the funny part of the story…I’m sure you are wondering how being broken down at 1 a.m. in Hondo is funny…bare with me. Once again used to the routine everyone piled out of the van. We then began pushing it backward down the hill hoping that it would pick up enough speed to start again…no luck. However, we made quite a sight as 6 people (dressed nice with less than ideal shoes) were pushing, kicking, and wanting to curse that beast of a van. Finally, accepting that the pushing wasn’t getting us anywhere we began to discuss our other options. Tired of waiting and seeing how hopeless sitting there seemed JT and I began to venture down the roads. There were some lights on a ways down so we without a word we started that direction. Sounds safe huh…splitting off from the group with our broken Spanish in an attempt to find help…well whatever because it worked. We had gotten a little ways from the van when we saw a car approaching. I immediately threw my arms in the air and began my attempt to “flag them down.” I mean come on it is what we would do in the states right? Well believe it or not THEY STOPPED! Talk about angels in disguise….as they pulled in front of our car I could hear the yells from within the car telling me that I had just flagged down a car full of boys and requesting that I return my butt to the car IMMEDIATELY. (If you know me at all the next part won’t come as a surprise) I promptly…ignored them and headed straight for the truck of men explaining that our car wasn’t working and that we needed water. I shouldn't have been surprised but I couldn't keep my jaw from dropping as they pointed at the barrel in the back and informed me that they had the water we needed. You ask God to send you angels and He answers! Jumping into action they started scooping out water and went to work on our car. 15 minutes later Gracie was ready to attempt the rest of the drive. Even though she sang us the rest of the way home we did indeed make it safe and sound. However, she is now once again out of commission. Heaven help us this van is going to do us in! Although she most certainly provides a lot of comic relief when you look back over the stories I’m truly ready to see her gone for good!:)

Find our way home

As you all know Luby is back with us now. We will be keeping him for good now. He is a broken little boy with a softened heart for sure. I'm still in shock as I snuggle up to him on the couch or feel his arms wrap around me in those bone crushing hugs. I hope to never forget the lesson that he has taught me. A lesson on finding "home" and stopping at nothing to get there. Here is a little boy who had for the first time found the closest thing to a home that he had ever known. Then suddenly that all drops out from beneath him and he is once again finding his world tossed upside down. However, it only took those few glimpses of home for him to realize what he wanted and what he needed to do. He would stop at nothing to see those front gates of Casa and to be wrapped once again in our loving embraces. How many of us are like this little one. I know that I have made my mistakes in the past. Each mistake bringing about its own set of consequences. Some of those mistakes took me from God and the "home" that I had found. However, with each set of consequences came lessons that I would never have learned otherwise. Although I'm sorry for the mistakes I praise those hard consequences that have made me who I am today. I pray that I never forget what those lessons have taught me and the reminder to keep my eyes fixed on getting "home." I firmly believe that we should stop at nothing to find our way home. That we should each be so persistent to fight tooth and nail until we are standing at the gates. I pray that we do not stand back in the shadows afraid to look into the face of the one whose arms are always waiting wide open for us.

Living for Today

Ever sit back amazed at the way God answers your cries? I have spent the past 4 days in turmoil once again about what I should do with my future. I couldn't keep my mind from wandering to consider what was coming. I've longed to know how things are going to play out. Well also during these past 4 days I've experienced my first round of sickness since arriving in January and have started to have some troubles sleeping. Both of which are rare for me. So with each passing day the tired, stressed, cranky Ashley has begun to emerge more and more. In an attempt to refocus I grabbed my bible, journal, and Jen's ipod and retreated for a bit. I attempted once again at a few minutes of sleep and when that didn't work turned to the word. Wouldn't you know that within the letters of the pages I found comfort. The Psalms were full of promises for me. One of the first places I flipped to I read "Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation, he is my fortress, I will not be shaken. My salvation and my honor depend on God, he is my mighty rock, my refuge. Trust in in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge." You see fearful and anxious thoughts slip away while we are in His presence. I had forgotten this simple fact. Though I was still going to Him daily I was going with a troubled heart. I went begging for answers. However, I had to be reminded today that God created time as a protection for us. We are told to neither look behind or head but instead focus our attention on HIM. He knows what is coming and is preparing us for it with each passing moment. At some point I had stopped just living for this moment and had started to worry about all the ones that hadn't happened yet or even those that have long since passed. By doing this I had forgotten to live out the day that was right in front of me. Then as if He wanted to make sure HE really had my attention the song below started to play just as I was closing my bible. He never stops amazing me. It was as though I could feel His breath on my face as He leaned in close and gently whispered "I love you my sweet child and did not create you to worry about tomorrow. Cast your fears aside and let me handle your future. When will you learn to simply let your light shine for today and let me handle the rest?" Did I suddenly feel sleepy like I would finally be able to sleep through the night...no. Did all of my thoughts about the months ahead suddenly leave my mind as if they were never there....no. However, I found a sense of peace that tells me I need not worry about what is to come because MY God has gone before me as well as with me. He is holding my hand and leading me along the way. I pray that you all find the same peace. That if you too are struggling with what is to come that you seek wisdom not in my words but in the Word.

Sittin' in my room staring at the wall
Wonderin' about the meaning of it all
Why is it this thing called life
Has got me goin' crazy
So I open up your word and let it speak to me
The purpose and the plan that you've designed
Is clear to see, and I believe
(Chorus)
I'm gonna live for today
I'm gonna follow in your way
I'm gonna let my little light shine
Like there's no tomorrow
I won't worry about the past
I know my future is intact
So I'll choose to live my life one way
I'm gonna live it for today
You told me not to worry
About what lies ahead
So I am gonna focus on today instead
Making every moment count and counting
Every single blessing
I'm gonna set my mind on the
Here and the Now
This is what I want my life to be about
And this is How...
(Repeat Chorus)

Santos

As promised I will finish the Santos blog that I started this time last week. I apologize that it has taken me this long to return to it. However, not only was it a very hard experience to process and put into words but also it has been a crazy busy week.
So at long last here is the much awaited story. As you all know from my previous post death here is done much differently than in the states. Monday’s experiences were just a brief glimpse of that. Tuesday morning Jen and I got up and got ready to head back to be with the family. We were not only attending the funeral but would be donating our services in any way that was needed. Once we had gotten ourselves in the car we headed to pick up a “few” others from our community that were wanting to come as well to pay their respects. However, when we pulled up to the spot where we were meeting them we found that “a few” was an understatement…there were about 12 or 13 others waiting there to ride with us. Without even batting an eye they did what I’m becoming accustom to calling the “Honduran way”….they packed into the van until there was barely any breathing room. Finally situated we headed back into the city. We arrived at the house around 1 and almost immediately Jen was asked to go with a couple of the guys to see about getting papers that were needed for the burial. Jen immediately looked to me to make sure that I would be fine by myself for awhile. Seeing my nod of assurance she quickly followed the men out the door to do what needed done. As I watched Jen climb back up the hill to the car it finally hit me that I was not only sitting grieving the loss of a great man but I was doing so completely surrounded by Honduran men and women. All of whom didn’t speak my language and whose language I definitely am not yet fluent at. However, in those 30 + minutes I spent waiting on Jen to return I watched men, women, and children grieve over the loss of one of the greatest Honduran men any of us has ever had the privilege of knowing. It was then that it hit me that it doesn’t matter what country you are in or how they choose to handle the death of their loved ones within that country. The heart of the matter is still the same….that no matter where we are we are all connected by that same feeling of grief. I stood, sat, and knelt beside dozens of tear stained Honduran faces that day as I too wept in sorrow. I held hands and offered/received hugs as we all leaned on one another for strength and support. It was in those moments that I realized that the truly important things in life are those things that span across all nations….grief, love, joy, sorrow, laughter, etc. They are the things that need no translation for they are not heard by the ear but felt with the heart. Eventually Jen found her way back to the house and she too joined me in the process of grief. As time inched forward the next moments were ones that will live in my memory forever. Thinking that they may enjoy pictures of the day I offered to take a few for the family. They not only graciously accepted my offer to take pictures of the decorations and such but also asked if I would take pictures down in the casket. If I had felt morbid taking pictures to begin with I was definitely feeling it then. However, I wondered if this was possibly the only photo they would ever have of their dad/husband. The entire day was filled with reminders of how privileged we are. The day was full of kicks in the pants that made me yet again want to see all I have and live off of nothing. We sit with books full of pictures of our loved ones while they get their first chance at a photo during the funeral services. We spend hundreds on a casket that’s only purpose is to hold our dead bodies while they place their dead in simple boxes. I don’t know about you but when I die I hope someone makes me a simple box and lays me to rest in it. If we would cut the cost of our funerals in half we could make a huge dent in the hunger problem that exists in our world. The next picture I took was of a cross that had been placed in the corner sometime in the night. It held a simple plaque that read Santos Maradiaga Nacio 6-11-1967 Murio 18-06-2007. I would still like to know who made the cross and who spent the time to write and draw on the plaque. I can remember thinking only one thing… “What a labor of love.” I stood back staring at the spot we had decorated the day before in preparation for the hours that had now passed. The flowers had wilted and died. The cloth was starting to sag. Candles that had been placed around the casket had long since melted wax all over the floor. However, never in my life have I have see a more beautiful display of affection and care taken for the viewing of a loved one. Finally, it was time to head to the burial spot. Jen left a few minutes ahead of me so that she could go get the truck. Our truck would be serving as the hearse for the day and she was to be the driver. Then as I made my way to the door Santos’s youngest daughter suddenly reached her little arms out to me and began to sob. For some reason her little mind had decided she wanted with me and only me. Swinging her up on my hip I did my best to shift her into a comfortable position that was conducive both for comforting as well as walking. I then joined the “procession” out the door of the house. Know how we drive from the funeral home to the graveyard. Well the cars that usually carry us were replaced with the feet of those weary grief stricken people who had spent the entire night awake watching over the body. For the first time in my entire life I had the desire to run for a bowl of water so that I could sit and wash each set of feet that marched before, after, and all around me. I stood watching each person follow the small foot path that cut its way back and forth up the mountain where Santos was to rest. We aren’t talking a small slop but a rocky, sewage and liter filled mountain! Let’s just say I also learned a lesson in wearing shoes that were sensible…not fashionable. Gone forever is the notion that my shoes need to match my outfit. Instead I will be picking my shoes according to rational! Without thinking of what was to come I had simply slipped on a pair of sandals that morning because they were “comfortable.” Gone was the comfort as I attempted to balance a purse of one hip and a child on the other. Gone was comfortable as I sloshed through water/sewage. Gone was comfort as I found myself being swarmed by fire ants whose bites leave your feet feeling on fire! However, on I marched…there was no stopping. We walked through the "graveyard" on our quest. It was just the side of a mountain where they had quite literally dug up every spot they could to bury their dead. All of which were marked by a simple cross and lined with rocks. If I had thought that in the house was hard to watch the graveside was even worse. As Santos’s wife realized this was truly her last goodbye the wails returned. Only this time along with that wailing came fainting. Then I watched as they wrapped rope around the casket as their “mechanical” way of lowering the casket into its new resting place. Finally, came the worst part…the men took turns using the two shovels to throw dirt down onto the casket. I say to you all….be glad that when it is our loved ones someone comes behind you after you are gone to do this process. There is something final in that thunk thunk thunk sound. Something that resonates deep in your being. The thing I found most odd about this whole experience was the fact that before leaving the house someone had scrapped up the candles, the melted wax, the dead flowers, and anything else that had been around the casket and placed it in a bag. Then when the casket was half covered they threw all of that stuff down in the hole before returning to the covering process. Then as the cross was placed, flowers were laid on top, and the family knelt to say their goodbyes my heart broke even more for this poor family. I felt as though all of Honduras should be feeling the loss of one of their finest. As the service came to a close I was shocked and amazed as I watched the mother compose herself the best she could and walk away with strength that surprised us all. She walked up to the truck and informed everyone she would be sitting in the back with her children. There was yet one more difference that struck me between here and home. Where as at home people would have baked, cooked, and provided them with the food they would need to see them through this we simply decided to take them out to eat. Jen and I piled them all back into the van ....this time there were 20 of us....and headed for the requested pizza hut. We took all of them in and sat with them for an hour or two as they learned to laugh, play, and live a little bit again. It was good to see them out together giggling and sharing in the joys of life. As I looked into each of their faces I was reminded of why exactly I was here and just what it was that made me fall in love with these people. Communication might be a bit of a challenge at times but when it came down to it we connected in the way that matter....the heart. Please continue to pray for this family as they begin to walk through this period of grief. They now must learn what it means to do life with out a daddy or a husband. I wish you all could have met this sweet sweet man who touched my heart in so many ways. He was some good stuff and will always be remembered.

Luby

So I promise I will get back to the Santos blog. (hopefully later tonight) However, I need to do a quick update on a little boy whom I know lots of you have been praying for. Last Saturday while the Grand Central group was here they visited the state orphanage (Kennedy.) Well while there Jen discovered that Luby was not in fact at Casitas 21 but instead was there at Casitas Kennedy. He ran up to Jen, wrapped his arms around her, and promptly started to sob. He begged her to let him return to Casa. He promised that he would listen to the rules and that he would stop hitting the kids. Jen promised to talk to our children, the adults, and the people at Casitas. Well as you know we have had a long busy week and we have not had the time to get back to the city. Jen had asked the kids what they thought and all but Yovani had said it would be fine. Yovani was actually very adamantly against the idea. Well even though we haven't had the time to return to Casitas this week he has never been far from our thoughts and prayers. Well........today God took those decisions out of our hands. I was sitting on the couch with my back to the door when I hear Jen say "are you ready for this?" Let's just say that as I turned around the last thing I expected to see was Luby standing in the doorway. However, that was the exact thing that my eyes did see. Then as my eyes began to fill with tears (big surprise that I was weepy!) I reached out for that little boy who had found his way into my heart so long ago. As he climbed up into my lap and wrapped his arms around my neck.... I lost it! I held onto him for 2 or 3 minutes just whispering into his ears that he was loved and that we wanted him. In the moments to come the rest of the story had poured out of him. He had climbed under a wall and escaped from Casitas. When we asked how he got here he held up a dirty looking Wrigley's spearmint wrapper with no gum in it that had one single word written on it....Santana. He then showed that little wrapper to every bus driver between here and Teguc and begged them to bring him here. He showed up around 6 almost afraid that we would turn him away or be mad at him. Instead we welcomed him with open arms. We then sat him down and talked to him about what was to happen. We explained that Yovani wasn't big on the idea of him returning and asked if he would talk to Yovani. We brought Yovani back to the porch and watched as Luby approached him in an attitude of humility. He told him he was sorry. He told him he would never hit his brothers again. He told him that he wanted to live here. Talk about weepy....I was gushing! Yovani then looked at him and said sure he was fine with it! So at least for the night Luby is laying his little head on our pillows in his old bed. We will be going to the city to see about bringing home a little boy who we so desperately want to be ours. So again I ask you to be on your knees. Lift this little boy up to our Father and beg Him for a changed little boy.

The gum wrapper that got a little boy back into our home!

The other boys joined Luby in the bedroom to help him find his clothes and get ready and such. It was so stinkin sweet!

Santos

When I signed up to come to Honduras I had no idea what was ahead of me. I didn’t anticipate the struggles and hard times that were to come. I didn’t envision myself developing such a passionate love for a people group so different from my own. However, God was calling me to be the light to a dark world. So I booked a ticket and climbed onto a plane that would take me into the unknown. I came here prepared to serve God’s people. He calls us to do for the least of these and I was geared up to do just that. However, I shamefully admit that I recently failed at that task. One of our guards (Santos) had been sick for about 3 weeks with stomach pains. He hadn’t been coming into work because it was so bad. Well last Saturday while the Grand Central group was here one of the nurses in the group went over with me to give him some medicine. In my broken Spanish I attempted to explain to him when to take which pill and how many times a day. I then asked questions about how he felt and all that. As we were leaving Thea (the nurse) explained to me what she thought the problem was and how bad it truly could be. Promising to come back to check on him and bring his family food we left. That day and the next were crazy busy and I didn’t make it back over to their home to check on him. Monday morning came around and at about 4 a.m. I found myself being awaken by Jen as she informed me that Santos had passed away during the night. Her presence was being requested at the hospital to see what needed to be done with his body. He had gotten worse and had gone to the hospital the day before but they hadn’t been able to do anything for him. Climbing out of bed I offered to ride along and seeing the relief that came across her face at those words I quickly prepared to leave. I was barely able to suppress the guilt and tears that had suddenly engulfed my body.
Grabbing my stuff I joined Jen, our pastor, and a couple of local men whom are friends of ours in the trip to the hospital. The drive to the city has never felt as long in my entire life. As we all sat consumed with our own thoughts and grief nobody could seem to find words to speak. It was surreal. As we reached the hospital gates the “long” ride suddenly felt way to short as I realized I was far from prepared for what lay ahead. However, ready or not I forced one foot in front of the other as I followed the men through the front gates of the hospital. Walking with a sense of confidence and strength they seemed to know exactly where to go. As we went down a set of stairs and followed a long hallway I could hear the wails of a women in pain. The farther we walked the louder the wails became. I can remember thinking to myself that someone should help the lady by giving her medicine or something. I thought she was one of the patients there and expected to eventually pass a doorway that would lead to the room that she was being treated in. However, as we rounded the corner the cries grew louder and then suddenly there she was. The wails were not of a women who was in physical pain but instead were the wails of Santos’s sweet sweet wife as her body was gripped with an emotional pain like none I have ever known.
I think that now would be a great time to mention that they do death here completely different than they do in the states. Where we place the bodies of our dead in separate rooms where the family may grieve separately they simply had rolled their dead out into a hallway by one of the main entrances of the hospital. He was still on the metal bed that he had been on while they were working on him. He still had tubes in his nose and an IV in his arm. They had simply rolled him into the hallway and covered him with a sheet. He was left there for the world to gawk at as they went by. As we approached I could see 2 beds lined up along the wall…both holding the bodies of those that had passed in the past few hours. The men immediately jumped into action and went to find out what was needed. All I could do was stand numb from the sights before me. 2 gurneys holding 2 men whom would never see another day with their loved ones. A wife half laying on top of her husband’s body crying out for God’s help and howling uncontrollably as she for the first time had to figure out how to do life without the love of her life. I will never forget the sound of her voice as she cried out God Help Me and I will certainly never get the sound of those wails out of my mind. It was the sound of a heart breaking…It was the sound of part of her dying there right beside her soul mate. Slowly I approached her and wrapped my arms around her in an attempt to pour out every ounce of strength that I could find. As Jen moved forward to do the same I retreated for my own moments of break down. As I stood sobbing I couldn’t help but think I should have done something…anything. More than likely I wouldn’t have been able to save his life. However, God called me here to try. He called me here to do the best I could for HIS people. I should have been there to at least offer the family a peace of mind that we did indeed care dearly about their father/husband. I should have been there to allow him a sense of peace that no matter what happened we would be here to help his family through it. Instead for whatever reason…be it my fear of the communication barrier, my busy schedule, or my American mentality that something like this wouldn’t happen because people don’t die from this…whatever the reason…I did nothing. I would like to think that I would have gone first thing Monday after Jen returned home but I will never get a chance to see. I waited too long. We stayed at the hospital for a couple of hours offering any help we could. The entire time we were there the other man was never visited. As he lay there dead and alone I couldn’t help but grieve for him and the fact that he didn’t have any sweet wife there missing him. Then in an act of complete disrespect and morbidity a lady walked over to the body, pulled back the sheet, and stared down at a man he didn’t she didn’t even know…simply to feed her own curiosity. She then covered him back up and was on her way. However, before she covered him I had seconds to stare into the face of a man who had very clearly been mangled in an accident of some sort. Those few seconds were just enough to add to the list of things that would forever be scarred into my mind.
Shortly after we were asked to go back to Santa Ana, break the news to the children, and bring them back into the city to meet up with their family. Not an easy task I can assure you. One of the guys with us sat the kids down and gently explained what had happened. Then all together we headed back to the city. Only this time we went to the home where Santos would be placed. Again they do things much different here. Instead of taking the body to a funeral home to be embalmed and prepared for a funeral they simply place them into a box and place them in their home. They have a 24 hour period of “watching” the body. Someone stays awake with the body for the entire 24 hours. The body is never left alone and throughout the time people can come and go for a “viewing.” We took the kids to the home where he would be placed and joined in as they began to clean and prepare for the arrival of the body. They brought in their table as well as the neighbors table and placed them together so that it would be big enough to hold the casket. Someone else donated these beautiful white cloths that were then hung on the walls and draped from the ceiling in an attempt to make a place for the viewing. While that was going on someone else was picking fresh flowers from a field and pinning them to the cloth backdrop and placing others in plastic bottles to lay around the foot of the casket. Still others were there from the community to donate their chairs to be lined along the wall for people to sit in. It was a beautiful sight of people coming together to do what they could. They may not have much but what they have they are willing to share and give in times of need. I wish you could have been there to see them form into the most real body of Christ I have ever seen. One was certainly being the hand while another functioned as a foot. However, the thing that moved me the most was watching the children. Santos has 4 children ranging from 4-14 and they jumped right in to help. The one that got to me the most was his 13 year old daughter Fanny. Her autopilot had kicked in and she was sweeping, washing, and serving in every way she knew how. Now I have to tell you that my autopilot had kicked in as well earlier that morning and I was still finding it hard to function. I also came to realize that my autopilot doesn’t come equipped with Spanish! Things that I have heard and understood a million times fell on deaf ears this time as I couldn’t seem to bring myself to focus on and translate what was being said to me. So how this little one so quickly and affectively switched to autopilot I will never know. Jen and I stayed until the casket was brought in and Santos and been placed in his spot of honor for the next 24 hours. We then hugged the family and slipped away to give them time to grieve.

As I sit here retelling this story I find that my mind is reliving it all over again. Though it is a story I hope I never forget I'm having a hard time reliving it again so soon. So for now I'm going to allow you all to read this part. I will continue the story later today.