Honduras, last part, I think.

There are untold stories from Honduras that I intended to write about: like the panic of being attacked for the craft at the VBS in the village or the tarantula that Tom saw, the land crab bigger than my hand with an egg sack or the volunteer couple who acted like they were at a resort. There are stories but as days deepen the distance mostly I don't remember the individual stories just the people, their hearts and God's amazing hand in it all. And hour after hour I as I go through my day I wonder, what are they doing, how are they, what can I send them to help bear the load?

Before we left, there were times I thought maybe we were crazy. Who finds an orphanage in an impoverished country on the Internet, one that isn't connected to any organization, and takes their two young children with them for two weeks to visit? Apparently we do.

I can't say that we had heard God's call to this specific place or that we knew for certain we should go. We just had a despeartion to expose our kids to something other than the materialism of America and a hope that we could find a ministry with which we could partner for years to come. Sometimes we allowed ourselves to also dream we'd find a place of love, strong friendships, a ministry not steeped in fundraising, paperwork and unnecessary expenses.

And so Tom found Roc minstries on the Internet, the banner name of Casa Cielo (the orphanage) and Casa Compassion ( the ministry to unwed mothers). We read about them, wrote back and forth and decided to go. I never doubted our decision, except when people would look at me quizzically and say, “What about...?” I never had an answer. Usually I hadn't thought of that possible problem. God's word says that pure and undefiled religion is to care for orphans and widows. Was I being naive or obedient? I wasn't sure but I felt at peace.

I never expected the trip to be flawless. I expected illness, travel problems, potential discomfort with the way the orphanage was run. I knew God never promises that things will go smoothly, for smooth doesn't require much faith. But the trip was flawless: no illness, no travel problems, and directors who saught the Lord and had more love, energy, and patience that I thought possible. We walked into a family that reminded me of sitting on the couch at my Grandma's—deeply familiar from years of napping and reading stories and sitting on relative's laps. Granted, there was the minor issue of the political coup, but that was just a test. “Do you trust me? In this safe and inspiring environment, do you trust me?” God was asking. Again, it was just media, an outside influence, that would send me into moments of doubt. Otherwise, I stood in awe at how perfectly Casa Cielo matched all our hopes, in awe that God allowed us to visit such a place, regardless of the political timing.

And now here I am in America again. In my comfortable, safe home. An easy life not full of much stretching. While there I saw with clarity the fear that most of us soak in. As a young mom I fretted until I was almost sick if someone wanted to move my car seat. What if they didn't properly install it? I researched vaccines excessively, trying to decipher the truth about their safety. I've spent countless hours analyzing what I exposed my kids to, if I was giving them the right opportunities. Are we too busy? Not busy enough? Am I raising them to know about holiness? I'd observe other mothers and feel guilty if they did more crafts than me or if their kids knew more scripture verses.

But in Honduras, it became clear that the thing to think about was obedience to God, not the rules of proper mothering. Those dear people didn't have time to research how high a fever could get before giving Tylenol. They didn't have money to make sure every meal was balanced with fruit and veggies, a lean protein, and whole grains (a habit the torments me sometimes) They couldn't spend fifteen minutes praying and cuddling with each kid every night and didn't have time to worry if this lack of time was effecting their children negatively. They were obeying God: taking in orphans, selflessly laying down their life from sunup to sundown and often in the middle of night, and raising these kids as their own with love and discipline. And those kids clearly knew they were loved. Giving them every opportunity in American wouldn't make their lives any better.

God is so much bigger than those little decisions. He can keep you healthy if you eat junk and allow you to be sickly if you eat perfectly. He can keep a child safe in an improperly installed car seat, or not. Rest in the fact that He is in control(did I mention we would drive around with 15 kids in an SUV with no car seats--I didn't even worry!). God looks at our heart, and if that heart is obedient, that person can be used to love the world.

My prayer is that my family (mostly me) will stop worrying about the details and focus on obedience. And like the Jones, who are making a giant impact on so may little lives, be used by God. I hope we can learn to lay down our lives and not be drawn into the American dream which at its core is all about self. I want to travel the road of obedience.

Pictures from the top: teaching Jose to use the computer, Tom and Xiomara who is blind, Yeseyli, Karen in a hamock (which are everywhere), Del and Jeanie (the oldest daughter and her husband), Javier during lunch, Marlon in the pool, Henry and Ethelyn who are twins.