Tales from Jayacayan... an Intern's Perspective

A summer in Honduras...changes your heart

Written July 3^rd:

The last 72 hours have been a blur. It feels as if my whole world has been turned upside down.. One moment I am riding along in the landcruiser and the next I am receiving welcome home hugs from my family. On Tuesday, when JB pulled us aside and told us that he needed to talk to us, I could tell from his eyes that it wasn’t going to be good. As the words “we are sending a jet to fly you out of the county” came out of his mouth I had felt like I had been punched in the stomach. There was nothing I could do, the political unrest had gotten too dangerous for us to be in the country. The decision was made. As the interns looked at each other with tear filled eyes, we all knew that it was over for the summer. Saying goodbye to our new found friends and brothers and sisters in Christ would come a lot sooner than anyone had expected.

I couldn’t help but feel that my work here had not yet been completed, but only just scratched the surface. Then I remember some words that JB told me as we were riding around in his truck one day. He said, “This is not my ministry, these are not my people. This is God’s work and God’s people. It is His job to work here, at the moment He is just using me to be His hands.” It is so easy for me to take God out of the picture, even when doing His work. I can be so busy trying to complete His work that I forget about Him. He loves these people so much more than I can even imagine, let alone can be compared to my minuscule love. He knows each starving orphan’s name. He knows the story of each homeless beggar that is sitting on the side of the streets. He feels the pain of the poverty in each heart. He feels the neglect, sorrow, and heartbreak of each of His people. He cannot forget them. His work will not stop in Honduras, especially in this great time of need.

Living in Honduras, for even just the short time of 5 weeks and seeing even the little bit of poverty that I did, it will change you. It has left a deep break in my heart, one that can’t be covered up or ever replaced to complete wholeness again. I just can’t seem to get the images out of my head of a little boy running around with no shoes on. He had recently been bitten on the foot by a dog, which could have had rabies. His feet were at the mercy of whatever he step on. Or the image of Reymunda, an 89 year old Honduran, who was dying of cancer. Her face was so disfigured by the cancer that it had taken over her left eye and is now blind in both eyes. She couldn’t have weighed more than 90 pounds. Her white hair infested with lice and her toe nails we infected as well. She was living in a small house with a very leaky roof, which in the rainy season of Honduras can create quite a problem. But the most heartbreaking part of all is when she leaned close to JB and told him that she didn’t want to die just skin and bones because everyone would think she was a beggar. Or the image of the two year old that only weighed 15 pounds. He was covered in a rash, because he slept on the floor and the bugs would bit him all over his body at night. No, poverty like this changes you. It changes your heart. I can’t even imagine what the Lord’s heart feels as He looks upon the impoverished. His heart has to be broken, broken for His people.

It took me a while to realize that I don’t have to actually be in Honduras to be God’s hands in Honduras. That’s the God we serve, He equips His tools. I can be a part of it by even changing one kid’s life by sponsoring them in the nutrition program. Someone change that two year old’s life who is receiving food and medical help so that he can gain 15 more pounds and be up to a normal weight. It’s just one kid, but to his mother, that kid means the world. It’s just one kid, but that kid is the apple of God’s eye. There is no price on that. I used to say I am too poor of a college kid to pay $30 a month to sponsor a kid, but then I didn’t know I didn’t even know the meaning of what poor really is.

 ~Ash

Missing Honduras Already

When I left for Honduras, I had several things that I was worried about.  Having to be evacuated from a potential war zone never even crossed my mind.  The last few days have happened so fast, I think we’re all in shock a little.  Tuesday afternoon the other interns and I were buying our weekly groceries in San Marcos.  24 hours later we were back in the States waiting to see who was going to take us in for the night.  This whole week has been worrisome and tense.  From Sunday on we were unable to continue our normal work schedules due to the political situation, so we were left to fill our time with various tasks on the ranch as we wondered what was going to happen next.  It’s was a very foreign experience for us to realize that with the heightened tension in the country, we really were the outsiders.  I know it made me aware of being a foreigner in a way that I’d never felt in my time in Honduras.  I wasn’t worried for my safety, but it was very hard wondering what this would mean for me and my work with Mission Lazarus.

It was definitely a devastating moment when Jarrod told us that we were going to be sent home.  None of us felt like we had finished what we’d come down to do.  I’m disappointed to not be able to see the changes in the San Marcos CIDT.  There was so much that needed to be done there and it was frustrating at times, but I wanted to see it through.  I was also looking forward to doing some job shadowing and really getting to know the communities and people.  And of course, I will miss the Refuge kids.  I hope they understand why all of their new friends left so quickly.  I am grateful that a large part of my individual projects for the mission are writing projects, so I can and will continue working on them from home.  I guess I don’t have to be in Honduras to serve Honduras!

I am so grateful to have had 5 incredible weeks with Mission Lazarus, although it certainly doesn’t seem like enough.  One thing I learned over and over again down there was that what I expected to happen was never what really happened, and it always turned out so much better than I had anticipated.  I can honestly say that I did not have a bad day in Honduras.  Even the day we had to pack up held a lot of great time with the friends I made throughout the summer, although it was bittersweet for sure.  So now I have to trust that God has greater plans in mind for this situation too.  I may feel like I left my heart in Honduras and that I’m not where I’m supposed to be right now, but I have to believe that I am right where God wants me.  

I don’t know when I’ll be able to go back – the sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned – but I know that I definitely don’t have Honduras out of my system.  Whenever I’m able to return I am eager to continue developing a riding program for the Refuge kids, and to stay involved with the developments in the San Marcos CIDT.  I can’t even begin to explain what this experience has meant to me.  It may not have ended the way I wanted, but it was worth every minute of it.

My heart and prayers are still very much with the people of Honduras, especially the friends I have made and left behind at the Mission Lazarus Ranch.  I wish them safety and all the best, and can’t wait to get back and see them again.

-Kaila

Lost in Limbo

Tuesday, June 30:

5pm—The interns were told we have to go back to the States

6:30pm—Dinner at the Posada with all the gringos (the fact that we are leaving the morning doesn’t seem much of a reality)

7:30pm—Lots of money was made for the ranch because all the interns raided the store :) YAY!

9pm—back to the intern house for one last porch night, everyone joined in the ritual

Wednesday, July 1:

12am—Spades begins because that’s just a must

4am—last game of spades ends with Cameron and I losing…sorry Cameron…

between 4am and 6am—packing, wasting time, enjoying the hammocks and the amazing Honduras mornings

6am—I made breakfast for everyone because we went grocery shopping right before being told we were leaving and we had plenty of food in the house—muffins, pancakes, eggs, tortillas, cereal…

9:15ish—headed out for Tegucigalpa

I won’t keep going on with the times, but I say all that just to illustrate how it all seemed to go in slow motion.  I remember almost every detail.  I’m still not grasping for sure why I am sitting on my bed here at home.  Everyone has been so accomodating and so loving.  I know that it is smarter that I am here and not in a potentially dangerous place, but my whole heart wants to be back on the ranch.  I got back into Nashville at 9 this morning where my best friend picked me up from the airport.  She is staying at the house of a very well known orthopedic surgeon for the summer, so that’s where I spent my day.  I didn’t know what to do with myself.  I could pretty much do whatever I wanted in the house, they have everything you could think of.  I spent most of my time laying by the pool in luxury.  Afterwards I took a long, hot shower and laid on the king size bed in the guest room.  Even then, I would give up all that to be sharing a room with three other girls with bunk beds, having a sick nasty bathroom, and living in a not so luxurious house in southern Honduras.

There are so many things that I wanted to do in Honduras before I left.  I was finally getting a little more comfortable with trying to converse in Spanish and now I have no one to speak to.  There were so many things I wanted to get done in the store by the end of the summer.  An easier system of sales was my top goal.  Getting people more informed on the different aspects of Mission Lazarus was another item on my list.  Each of which were well on their way.  I had so much left to learn.

Now that I am back home I want to get the word out about ML.  I want some more donations and supporters for ML and inform people of the amazing things that are going on.

I am definitely planning on either going back if the political stuff doesn’t get bad or for sure going back next summer.  There are plenty more things that are yet to be learned.  I miss everyone so much and I can’t wait to have a reunion

Hope in their eyes

The past few days have had such a profound impact on me, that I am afraid I won’t be able to do it justice. Last week Ali took me, Lacey and Jenifer with her to visit a family that had been brought to her attention as possible additions to the Children’ Home (Refuge). She was told that a grandmother was caring for her 7 grandchildren by herself and she was in poor health. This grandmother, Aida, had asked a preacher from the area for help. So we were along to help distract the kids while Ali talked with Aida to try to get a feel for what was going on. We left unsure of what to think or what do to. On Tuesday Ali pulled me, Jenifer and Lacey aside to tell us that 4 of the children were being brought to the home by Thursday. Ali had just found out that the oldest of the four siblings, Merari, a 12 year old girl had been ‘claimed’ by a middle aged man and his 3 teenage sons. This girl, still a child, had been taken from her home, her school, and what little family she had to be used by a man and his sons. So, Thursday Lacey and I went with Allison to help in whatever way we could. We met up with Sebatiana, the social worker, at 8:00 and Ali filled her in on the way over. Its hard to really explain what it was like to go to this family’s home and see the hopelessness and feel the despair. I explained that this woman was caring for 7 children. What we later found out is that only 4 of them are actually her grandchildren (her son lives down the street but evidently is incapable of caring for his own kids) and the other 3 are the children of a man who it appears just moved in with Aida and is having her care for his kids. When we got to the house, not everyone was there, so we spend most of the morning running around Choluteca finding everyone we needed, having the right papers signed, and going to the courthouse to make it all legal. What amazes me is how detached all of the adults were and how excited the children were. We were not able to find Merari, the 12 year old who had been claimed. We knew where she was, but decided that it would not be safe for us to just run in and take this girl away from a man who believed that she belonged to him. So that was postponed until Friday, when the social worker could go in with reinforcements.

After we had all of the legal stuff out of the way, we took the kids, grandma Aida, and their father to Wendy’s for lunch. Unexpectedly, going to lunch was one of the more emotional parts of the day for me. These kids had been out to eat a total of 2 times (both of which by Ali or Jarrod), and they were bouncing off the wall excited to eat at Wendy’s. We ordered them kids meals and when we brought them out their eyes lit up. What made it so heartbreaking is that the kids would barely touch their food. We asked if they were hungry and they nodded their heads eagerly, but when the food came out they barely ate. They all jumped up and got doggy bags for their food and put it all away almost immediately. We finally figured out that they were saving their food for the rest of the kids at the house, so that they wouldn’t go hungry. Me and Lacey were able to get them to eat some of our food, but I couldn’t help being shook by the humility of these children. Ali said she truly believes the less you have, the more generous you are. After lunch we took everyone back to the house so that the kids could gather what little belongings they had and head out. The reality of the situation finally became clear when the children we saying goodbye to their grandmother and their dad, both of whom started crying. Up until this point we didn’t see any sign of affection from the father.

The children are Fransico, a 7 year old boy; Carolina, a 9 year old drama queen; and Cyntia, a 10 year old girl. It became obvious quickly that the kids had never been outside of Choluteca when they got extremely excited to see the mountains 10 minutes away. Allison did a great job of preparing them as best she could for their new home. They were nervous and excited when they first walked into the house. I can honsetly say that it was an incredible experience. Even though it will be a difficult transition for the kids, I am so thankful that they have a chance at a good life. The Refuge has given them hope and you could see it on each of their faces.

~Charissa

Bare feet and HUGE hearts

So, I guess it’s easy to write blogs about how mission work makes you feel good. It’s been easy thus far. At the beginning of the trip I wondered what new adventure I’d come upon every day. Now, I realize that you’re never prepared for the experience’s you’ll have here, and a daily dose of something new is asking for more than you can swallow. I’ve done various things this week, but only a couple of instances stick out. I was able to witness some intense social work on Thursday. I went with Ally and Charissa to Limon to bring 4 children back to the refuge here. I didn’t know what to expect, but I wasn’t worried after seeing Ally’s faith that God had it under His control. We headed to Choluteca to get gas and eat a phenomenal breakfast at Wendy’s. I was happy because I was able to eat a biscuit, and I guess was trying to avoid the anxiety I felt for what we were about to do. At about 8.30 we picked up Sebastiana, the social worker. This woman is the epitome of a social worker- passionate, stern, intimidating, and welcoming. We went to the house of a lady who was raising 7 children. Four of these kids were her grandchildren, the other three of some man who imposed himself and his family on her house. Charissa and I waited as Ally, Sebastiana, and one of the children, Carolina went to look for someone. They returned with the father of the 4 children. Evidently this guy lives about two blocks away. By himself. No job, and no concern for his sick mother and his four kids who live in a pitiful two bedroom house. They had two sad beds, two hammocks, and a few lawn chairs. When he got there, we hopped in the car and drove to the school- in the middle of the day, mind you. There, we picked up Francisco (7), and Cyntia (10). From there we headed to Choluteca. The dad and grandma got birth certificates, signed papers, talked to the judge, and revoked temporary rights to Mission Lazarus. Obviously, this wouldn’t have happened in one day in the states. The most shocking part is the way the father acted about giving away his children. So flippant, and unconcerned. I can’t fathom the detachment, how can a daddy not care about his little girls? Worst part is that the oldest girl has been “claimed” by an older male adult with three teenage sons. She’s 12, by the way. Everyone is aware of where she is and who she is with. Seriously?! In what world is that ok? They were able to go back on Friday and get her, with some back-up. There was a struggle, but thank God she’s gone. After it was all said and done, we went to Wendy’s again because Francisco wanted to go. He was so pumped about it. So, we get the food and the kids only eat a few fries and pack up their burgers in to-go bags. Why, you ask? Because there were 2 other children back home that didn’t get to eat there with us. Jasmine (3), and Ruben. Jasmine has a heart problem- it’s basically backwards and she doesn’t get enough oxygen. There is no cure other than a heart transplant, and there is no way that’s ever going to happen. What a love these kids have for each other. When you have little you give a lot, I have learned. The other kids enjoyed the burger when it got back home. Would I ever think to do that? Unfortunately, probably not. Thankfully, we’re going to be getting the other 3 children that still live in the house very soon. Did I mention that the grandmother is getting kicked out of her house? Limon was a refugee town when it was established and everyone was given papers. Periodically, they check the papers. The grandmother had a copy, but evidently someone else did, too. So, they took the word of the other person, hence the grandmother being kicked out. The government did give her a plot of land…but no house and no materials for any such thing. Son still has room to spare in his house- but evidenly, not his heart. I could rant about this for days. It’s horrible. So, read this and reflect, please. I don’t even know what to say other than be grateful for love, and gratefully give love. Witness God work in your life, and do your best to be a witness to others in the name of God. He is the only one that gives hope in these situations, the only one.

**Lacey

A Break from the Usual

While in Honduras I have seen a lot of suffering. This, of course, was not unexpected however there is a difference between knowing malnutrition and sexual abuse exist and spending time with Henry, a four year old boy who is the size of a two year old and Merari, a 12 year old girl who was ‘claimed’ by a forty year old man and has been living with him, his three teenage sons, and no other women in the household. The Bible has a lot to say about suffering but I would like to focus on John 9, the book we have been studying with Mr. and Mrs. Brown. v.1“As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man who had been blind from birth. 2‘Teacher,’ his disciples asked him, ‘why was this man born blind? Was it a result of his own sin or those of his parents’?” v.3“It was not because of his sins or his parents’ sins.’ Jesus answered. ‘He was born blind so the power of God could be seen in him. 4All of us must quickly carry out the tasks assigned us by the one who sent me, because there is little time left before the night falls and all work comes to an end.” v.6 “Then he spit on the ground, made mud with the saliva, and smoothed the mud over the bling man’s eyes. 7He told him, ‘Go and wash in the pool of Siloam’ So the man went and wash, and came back seeing!’ v. 35b [Jesus said] “Do you believe in the Son of Man?’ The man answered, ‘Who is he, sir, because I would like to.’ ’ You have seen him, ‘Jesus said, ‘and he is speaking to you!’ ’Yes, Lord,’ the man said, ‘I believe!’ Here it says, plain and simple, that the man did nothing to bring this suffering upon himself but that God allowed his suffering for the purpose of showing God’s glory. Let me make it clear: The man suffered for years, begged outside the temple for the entirety of his life, so that God might show His power. Can you accept this? Can I? Am I ok with a God who allows suffering in order that his power and glory may be made clear? No. At least not at the moment. I believe that for the most part I understand the story and lessons: God cares more about his relationship with us than whether or not we are wealthy, healthy, and the such… That God works through our sufferings in order for us to see Him and have a relationship with Him, but this does not change the fact that He must allow suffering in the first place in order to work through it. I understand the reasoning for the suffering and the explanations behind it but at this moment that is not enough for me. It used to be. I wonder: People who parrot off these explanations… Have they truly suffered? Have they been born of a lowly position, lived the definition of injustice, spent the afternoon wondering if they were going to be taken advantage of that night, or tried to fall asleep to the sound of their father beating their mother? Has the very foundation of their faith been so shaken that they were unsure if they could find the Cornerstone amongst the ruble? If so then theirs is the type of faith I am striving for. If not then their words are nothing but a string of words recited with perfection. I understand with my mind the purpose of suffering. I understand that we are a broken people who cause our own misery and that God works through this despair to make His face clear to us and establish a relationship with us, but as much sense as this makes to my mind, my heart cannot accept this. It rages and thunders and screams for something different. I am confident that in time I will once again be able to accept this truth. Until then I will trust that God is big enough for my anger, for my cries of injustice, for my disillusionment, and accusations. Until then I refuse to ignore my thoughts and feelings. I refuse to ignore the struggle at hand. If I did I would be as a stagnant pool with rotting debris hidden under the un-rippled surface. Instead I shall rage and question and roar, like angry waters cascading off sharp edges, rushing through the valley lands, forging new streams and ultimately finding a more meaningful, deeper relationship with God. I will dare to plunge in the unknown depths. King David, who was an adulterer, murderer, and passionately questioned God, was called a man after God’s own heart. Why? I believe this was partly due to the fact that he engaged his faith. He took it so seriously that he asked the hard questions, struggled with perceived inconsistencies, and acknowledged his emotions. Let us be like David for it is through the struggle that we build strength. Suffering is one of the many ‘hot topics’ that gets debated in the religious and non-religious realm and this is not an attempt to shed any light on the issue or even to give any sort of perspective. I just wanted to take an opportunity to share what I have been struggling with and, if at all possible, provoke some thoughts. Our God desires a relationship with us. As with all relationships, sometimes you must sit down and discuss the problems, have the hard conversations. My hope is that you might be able to do so. -Lindy

Listening for God

Tuesday afternoon I was eating lunch across from the San Marcos school with Blake and Mrs. Brown. A man came out of the restaurant and got into his truck, and as he started to drive away he was saying something out the window to us. He kept saying a word we couldn’t catch, followed by “uno nueve.” None of us knew what he was talking about until he said “la Biblia.” Then we realized that he had seen Blake’s Bible on the table and that he was telling us to go to a specific verse. Blake was able to find which book it was in his Spanish/English Bible, and that led us to this passage: “I hereby command you: Be strong and courageous; do not be frightened or dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” - Joshua 1:9. How awesome is it that some stranger yelling out his truck window in Spanish was actually pointing us toward a verse that is so perfectly applicable to what we’re doing this summer? I’m learning to listen for the Lord in unexpected places. -Kaila