Hey Laura...How's that blood sugar?

I happily remember the days where I weekly  posted blood sugar numbers on here. It was a great experience, worthy of a story in MOPS magazine, where my friends followed my health issues and helped me along. I loved the accountability even though I didn't want to post my high numbers.

I think I am a healthy diabetic now because of it. There is room for improvement certainly, but I can speak of my disease and experiment and eat imperfectly without tears or guilt. I've learned my diabetic personality for this phase of my life...which is to check my blood sugar 2-3 times a day for a week and then ignore it for 2 more. Not the conventional way, but I can handle it.

I went to the doctor on Wednesday. I really like my doctor (her office staff is a bit unreliable) but I appreciate how my doctor never settles. Good isn't enough. She wants perfect and to that end she is always experimenting, after considering my input. So for the last 18 months my A1C (three month blood sugar average) has held steady at 7. The guidelines for diabetics to avoid complications is under 7. My doctor is pleased with my steadiness but says that since I presumably have a lot of life left to live, we need to lower it. (Note: My other diabetic stats like my blood pressure, the condition of my eyes and feet, my kidney function are and have always been perfect.)

The fascinating/ frustrating thing to me is how steady my A1C has been. Steady is good right. Well for 9 of the past 19 months I spent at least 3 days a week exercising. But my A1C had gone down. And for one of those A1C I changed the time I take my oral medicine in an effort to reduce my after lunch and after dinner readings. It didn't work.  I guess it is a good reminder that while diabetes offers its hostess some level of control, not every one can just eat well and keep it all under control.

This is my insulin pen. Take off the cap, screw on the needle, dial the units of insulin needed and poke! Super easy.

So now Doctor wants to increase the number of units of insulin I take--try to lower those numbers. I told her this concerned me because sometimes I wake up in the morning with a too low blood sugar anyway and feel wobbly coming downstairs. So we are going to try taking my insulin in the morning instead of the evening. That way, if my blood sugar drops too low, I won't be sleeping and can make adjustments. I think the plan sounds like a good one.

I made the girls fried eggs and toast this morning before school. It's their favorite breakfast and the most disappointed is the person who has to eat an egg where the yolk broke and cooked completely (yes I know about the dangers of uncooked yolks). The girls relish this hearty breakfast and swirl the runny yolk on their toast proclaiming the goodness of fried eggs. Today Hadley declared, "This tastes like splendor." I questioned her statement, wondering if she somehow knew the word Splenda and was confused. No confusion. She meant splendor---wonderful and delightful was her definition. Such phrases are music to this English teacher's heart. I hope conventional language never overtakes her little mind.

Pictoral update

Yesterday marked the beginning of the normal year. Our lives run on school calendars. As teachers, this was true even before we had kids. I hope it never stops...I love the school calendar.

 Kassy started first grade. Hadley started third. Third grade is a kind of milestone in my head. It's the first grade I really remember. I remember my teacher, books she read masterfully in class (The Trumpet of the Swan), the friends I loved (Sarah Barackman), fights on the playground (ignoring Nicole Krayneski because she was bossy and got away with it as a student in her mother's classroom!) games we played (detailed games of house and swinging around poles at the third grade entrance, hand clap chants). So third grade is the point at which I assume all great things and all horrid things will actually stick in Hadley's mind...every time I lose my temper and every time a friend snubs her, every time she gets applauded and when she overcomes a difficulty. I know, I know, I am taking this to an extreme, but I've found comfort and dismay in assuming that up until now, many of lives imperfect, dismaying events will be forgotten, especially if I didn't record them with my camera. But third grade here we come....at least I know I love Hadley's teacher, we had her for 2nd grade.

The school day was uneventful to my knowledge except that I switched the girls thermoses and gave Hadley the gluten-free mac'n cheese and Kassy the glutenous perogies. Kassy suffered through lunch bravely, only bursting into tears upon sighting me as she gushed her dismay not so much at the thermos mistake but the fact that Hadley ate her mac'n cheese.

Hadley would only give me this goofy grin, and in the second picture she
is doing the dance from Shakira's "Waka Waka"(it's catchy, we
sing it often you should listen) the World Cup theme song.
She learned it in Honduras but has since learned the English version

We spent the frigid Labor Day weekend at Camp Barakel up north for a family camp. The weather was less than perfect, but we had fun. Beware, some of these pictures are so atypical of my girls that you may be shocked! Lots of new experiences!

Thunder Express...a large tube slide. It was cold and wet. I took this picture on Sunday, when the sun was out.

If I had taken the picture on her first trip down, she would have looked more cautious...but by now she knows it's awesome!

Hadley loved archery. She wants her own bow and arrow. Keep dreaming dear. 

Kassy was pretty accurate with the BB guns. Perfect target practice is 50, Tom got a 47, Kassy got a 33!

We thought for certain they would win the father/daughter combined score contest, but someone beat us!

Kassy was so disappointed. 

Of course, we did hit the craft hut, just to get in some more predictable activities!

Kassy chose to paint a wooden snake in a pink, pink, blue, blue, orange, purple pattern!

Hadley did sand art. Note to self: Never buy a light pink sweatshirt and take it to camp!

Even before the weekend, we had some end of summer fun: our annual frog hunting and a trip to the roller skating rink during the good ole day of summers (admission $0.75)!

We brought friends to the frog pond. And nets.

Eventually we had 7 frogs! Some of them are shining, springtime green. At the end we tipped the bucket to see who would hop back fastest, but apparently traumatized frogs, play dead. The kids carried the eerily still frogs to the pond, where they floated for several minutes as if dead before swimming off. Guess those frogs found a way to traumatize us too!

Doing the chicken dance on skates. The little boy and girl on the right are friends from school. The girl to the left of Kassy is a soccer friend. 

Final thoughts on trip #2 to Honduras

People ask, "How was Honduras?" I hestitate. Is the questions routine politeness or do they really want to know? Because I don't have a one word answer...and the one word that comes to mind is not one to just toss out in passing, it needs explanation. "It was hard."

Yes the heat was hard, especially for Tom. Yes the kids were challenging but endearing and I still wake up asking what the weather is like, singing the day of the week song and missing the cheerful greetings. True, I wanted to scream at all my bug bites and Tom had mystery bites that swelled up his whole leg and constantly oozed puss (Thankfully, they are on the mend finally).

Last summer, perhaps under the Lord's protection, we lived in isolation, only exposed to those who worked directly with Mama and Papa. We ate daily with our friends and learned about their heart and their vision. This summer, we learned more about the daily life of the average Honduran. We came to care about the lives of the workers on the property and Tia Maria. We ate, shopped, and dwelled with  just our family--living almost independently in this beautiful country.

The average worker in Honduras has very little. I felt guilty knowing the quality of education my kids are receiving, the tremendous number of choices they have, and the sheer amount of stuff we have. While on this earth, I will never know why I was born in the United States to my educated parents or why some of those dear children were abandoned in garbage dumps in Honduras. Perhaps, the hardest part is knowing that guilt is not helpful. But I still can't find a better response that is as steadfast as guilt.

So many people in Honduras need help. There are hundreds of orphans in Honduras and no orphanage to house them. Allowing Americans to adopt seems like a good idea, but currently they the cost to adopt them is prohibitive, almost $70,000 by the time you pay off all the judges and governemental workers who want some cash to sign a paper. Women have little to no true rights in Honduras. They are abused, beaten and subdued and they are the only ones who raise the children. The concept of a family with a mom and dad is very weak in Honduras. And while the school teachers don't get paid often in Honduras, somehow the mayors of the little towns (many of whom are all related in a given region) always get paid and they have perks, like a certain amount of free gift cards for gas each month and fancy vehicles.

And my friends? Their heart and vision is the same. But they need help. They want to run this school for their kids, but they can't pay teachers. They need transportation. They don't have enough space and the orphanage won't be finished for a few years. It seems as though their needs are so much greater than before that they run daily from emergency to emergency, unable to create a peaceful routine.

And I learned that the life of foreign missionary can be so lonely. While loving those need love, energy is spent. New friends show up to help and then leave and adding the donor/receiver relation can make things more complicated. There's a desire to be totally honest about struggles and a desire to make everything appear beautiful and perfect. New local friends abound too; the wealthy ones give gifts, but it's hard to know if the source of the funds is honest (and there's a lot of dishonest money in Honduras). It's hard to know if friendship is friendship or if something else expected. Americans have many resources. Hondurans know this. Life as a missionary can be lonely.

Certainly Honduras and its people are friendly and lovely. And certainly working to share the love of Christ among them brings emotional and spiritual rewards.  This summer, God taught me about the pouring out of ourselves and the reality of that life for friends. It isn't easy and people are never perfect in their attempts to defeat the selfish monster. Last summer I think God showed us about the filling up that comes from loving these kids. As the Lord fills cups to overflowing, it is hard to know which direction to pour.

The injustices and sin of this world still weigh heavy on my heart. All I know to do is pray.

Xiomara is almost 2. She is blind. She has learned to walk since I saw her last summer.
And while she can speak, she rarely does. But if you are attentive,
you might hear her sing in her quiet, sweet voice. 

Home...

Almost everyone....and everyone is looking...somewhere!

We arrived home Wednesday, about 4 pm. Tom and Hadley ran off to soccer to 6. There are two many parts to the journey. Each way, we spent 3 days traveling. Too much. Next time we will spend more money and cut off a day of travel. We missed our connection in Miami and ended up spending 8 hours in that airport (at least they gave us food vouchers so we ate well). But here we are home. Today is Friday, I am starting to be filled up. I am starting to function again. I am slowly not panicking when I use tap water to brush my teeth or throw the toilet paper in the toilet. I will reflect on the trip later, but for now, if you are interested, skim through the previous Honduras posts, I added relevant pictures and captions. At the end of each post, I put pictures of some of the kids!

My garden is weed-less and fragrant. I picked tomatoes and green beans the first hour I was home....Good job Jordan.

Walking in the Jungle

It's time to pack up this house. Pam and Chris leave for the bus station at 5:45 am (we're usually awake by 5 anyway). Then Tom will spend the morning hauling the stove, fridge, table, chairs and mattresses to a currently unknown location. We are moving to Del and Jeannie's for the remaining 4 days. We are lonely already and with the departure of Pam and Chris hope to hang out with someone. The distance between homes has certainly made communication, transportation and serving more difficult. Like I said I am supposed to be packing. So I am blogging. I love when words that are nouns get turned into verbs by popular use. Language is fascinating. So we played tourist yesterday. We've never done that here. 

It was tourism Honduran style (ie confusing). We wanted to go see and maybe swim in one of the waterfalls in Pico Bonito national park. If you know Spanish, you can guess that Pico Bonito is the highest mountain in Honduras. When we drive into Ceiba, we can see it (it's not that high). We read the guidebook and it said that on the highway after Ceiba turn left into a pineapple plantation between the 174 and 175 kilometer markings. So there was no pineapple plantation to turn into. We stopped at a gas station and found that the locals had no idea what we were talking about (thanks to a lady who happened to know English and could translate). One guy said he thought the road was just outside the village (we were in the village of El Pino...yes that's Pineapple village) at a road with a sign marked SOS. We found the road and didn't even drive 1/2 mile before there was a locked gate and a guard with a gun (even the mall security officers here carry very visible guns). He was friendly enough though and pointed at road we could see. We forgot our Spanish dictionary and said we were looking for aqua and then pantomimed a waterfall. So we turned around and found the road we thought the guard had pointed out. There was a pineapple field on one side (wish I could post my pictures) and jungle on the other. Eventually the surroundings became groomed jungle---workers had clearly been mowing between the giant palm trees...mowing meaning whacking with a machete. We still aren't sure what the story was with that place. We drove on the winding dirt road hoping we were in the right place and wouldn't get in trouble. When we finally came to a stream we would have to cross in the car, we decided to turn around and try a Dole pineapple farm we had seen.

The Dole pineapple plantations covered 100s of acres at the feet of Pico Bonito. I didn't know pineapples grow under ground.....I still don't really believe it. The turn into the plantation had a faded hand-made sign, not unlike the ones we make for garage sales, that said something about Pico Bonito, a Dole sign and a private property sign. We turned here anyway and shortly met a locked gate, an unarmed guard and a sign welcoming us to a waterfall at Pico Bonito national park. The guard kept speaking in Spanish and between Tom and I we were able to discover the cost of admission ($6 per person) and that he would send the young man next to him as a guide for another $20 dollars. Given that we were out of cash and that the guide couldn't speak English, we opted to go alone.

We were the only visitors to that part of the park that day. The parking lot was nice and grassy, full of hungry mosquitoes and had real flushing toilets that smelled better than the average port-a-potty. We followed the rock lined trail and were soon traveling on a slippery rock-filled trail with steep steps and cables to grab so you wouldn't fall into the small rapids below. We literally crawled along wondering how long we could do this. We hadn't traveled even 10 minutes when the trail required a fording of the rapids, a climb up a steep ladder and cable. Tom went ahead to see if the trail was really as it appeared while we watched and Hadley sobbed and prayed for her dad's safety (the rapids were only thigh-deep and not dangerous but the slippery trail scared Hads). We opted to stop where we were and swim in the pools. It was cold, but refreshing. Lots of splashing and exploring and except for the time I lost my balance on a slippery rock and fell flat, cheek and shoulder first...a good time. (Praise God I didn't have camera in hand and my glasses didn't break).

We eventually returned to the parking lot to eat lunch. There, on the side, we saw the real trail. We had followed the one for workers who made the pipeline running along the waterway! We knew that the high school boys the week before said the trail was strenuous and took about 50 minutes. Our original plan was to take 1.5 hours to hike it. But we were already tired. After lunch of PB &J we decided to see how far we could get. The trail was strenuous in parts and the dirt was really clay that was bright orange. The jungle was loud, think of the sound of cicadas, only 20 times louder and able to eclipse the sound of the rapids. It was the music of frogs and bugs and who knows. The only wildlife we saw were one snake and several lizards. All of the wooden structures on the trail---stairs and bridges were in the process of being eaten by termites. We only hiked about half an hour before the girls were dragging. Now that we know where to go, maybe next time we can make it to the big waterfall.

That evening we treated ourselves to appetizers at Helen’s, a little resort on the beach. The ocean breeze was lovely and Tom and I and girls wandered the beach while waiting for food. It was dusk and the waves were big (we’ve gone to the beach every Sunday). Little crabs would get washed up by the waves. They would pause, recover and then scurry toward the next oncoming wave. It was fun to watch. Tomorrow we move to Del and Jeannie’s. They are house sitting at a beach house near Helen’s. The ocean is like the mountains for me-- a clear expression of the existence of God. I marvel at the waves and how god makes that water stay in its boundaries (most of the time). I can’t wait for the company and the breezes.

The girls with Maria

Kevin

We said good bye to tia Maria today. It was sad. I practice my Spanish every day with her by telling her what to cook and asking her questions. She is a dear woman and a reminder of the life of the average Honduran. She saves most of our food scraps for her dog or saves seeds from the peppers to plant. She rejoices at receiving our cheap little 8 x 10 mirror. Her son Kevin is 12 and has come to visit several time. His English is good and he plays well with the girls. But you can quit school at age 12 here. He plans to quit. His mom said he is excellent at math but needs remedial help in reading Spanish. Kevin says the school is bad and he won’t go anymore. He will work, but he doesn’t know where or what. When I think of all the opportunities my girls have to learn (he’d never seen anything like a drawing pad and a drawing book), I want to wisk Kevin and Maria away. But more stuff and opportunities isn’t necessarily helpful. I know that. Seeking the Lord is the only thing that can bring hope and blessings regardless of circumstances.

Jefferson is four. He's very intelligent, quiet and sweet. 

Jennifer is two. She is quiet and snuggly, but watch out or she will
drink from your water bottle and empty your backpack!

More random thoughts on life by the rainforest..

Written Saturday night:

Sweat was pouring off my scalp this afternoon as I held a sobbing Hadley.

She woke up two nights ago and waddled into our room, waking from a bad dream. She gets a few of these a year, so I wasn't surprised. I waddled with her back to her bed and snuggled until she fell asleep again. While we waiting for sleep to return she told me it was the worst dream ever....she had to leave Copper. "At least," she whimpered, "I'll always have Copper, he'll just be at the orphanage." Gulp. I tried not to cry and not to respond, we hadn't told her yet that Papa wasn't keeping Copper. And at 3 am I didn't want to tell her. After all, her bad dream wasn't so much a dream as the guaranteed future.

Tom told Hadley this afternoon, hence the sobbing child and sweating mother. Poor girl loves that puppy and insists we can't leave Honduras.

Making spiders. 

I am so American. It's embarrassing. I consume mass quantities of goods and am snobby about my food.

I raised my girls with easy access to paper of all kinds, scissors, glue, crayons , markers, feathers, clay, etc. They've always created. The school here has shelves filled with donated craft supplies. While Pam and I were planning lessons for the week this morning, the girls went into the other classroom to play. They found art supplies and started creating. They didn't know any better, they used about 10 sheets of paper, a pile of cotton balls and glue.

Pam copies a worksheet. 

While planning my lessons lately I've been thinking about how I teach like an American. I use a lot of paper, include creative art projects and want everything to be fun. It's been hard for me to plan here because while I have paper, there is no printer, no copy machine. Every worksheet or activity we have made we hand traced....one for all 18 kids. We easily have used three times the amount of paper that the afternoon Spanish teachers use. But I don't know how to change. My brain can't (at least not yet) think differently about what I want to happen in a classroom. I hate the copying and repeating typical of the Spanish classes. Yet I am consuming their paper resources that aren't easily replaced.

So when the girls showed up with paper and craft projects I wasn't very happy. Ok, I over reacted. They didn't know any better. Jeannie told me to relax and trust God to replace the supplies.

The kids eat their lunches, supervised by some of the teenage volunteers. These kids eat everything on their plate. They don't whine to  be fed and their snacks are minimal---maybe 2 apple slices or a quarter of a banana. 

We eat extravagantly too. We buy our own groceries here. I am shocked and dismayed at how most of the food staples we want are priced similarly or higher as Meijer. Fruit is cheaper. Most Hondurans don't eat meat. They eat beans, rice, tortillas and fruit. But us, we get tired of rice, beans and tortillas. We have meat most meals. We get really excited about chips. We love milk (almost $4 a galloon..just like gas for a car here). Yet the average Honduran worker earns at $10-$15 a day. I get embarrassed at our extravagant tastes and how we prefer peanut butter and jelly (a small jar of PB is almost $5) to left over beans and rice. I'm not doing anything about the embarrassment since I am leaving in a week and my family still wants their PB & Js.

After living here for a month, I think when I get home I will have an urge to get rid of about half of our stuff. It's so freeing to have few belongings.


Written Monday afternoon:

Chelsea, the newest family member. 

Saturday evening we took the 4 oldest girls ( all 5-years-old) to our house for a sleepover. I felt so proud of myself setting six girls fed, showered, and to bed. I only had to get up once in the night to fill Hadley’s water bottle. The morning was long as it started at 6 am and church wsn’t until 10. The girls are charming. And so small. My girls tower over them. Some of these girls wear a 3T! My pride diminished as I thought of dressing or showering 20 kids. And Mama and Papa never get a full night’s sleep as there is always a baby in their room. Child number 20, a 4- month- old girl named Chelsea, arrived Friday (that means there is a 3 month old and a 4 month old in their room). Part of me thinks they are crazy taking in more but these people know how to lay down their lives.

As Papa says, they are vehicularly challenged here. Money for a new vehicle is desperately needed, at this point most anything will do, but little Jose, who is five is believing God will give him a bus. He talks about it all the time.

Pam and Chris leave Thursday morning and with them—the computer. We fly out Tuesday morning, August 3rd. Not sure if I will post again.

Thanks for your prayers.

For my family, yes my sugar numbers are fine. I actually had to lower my insulin units a bit. Kassy is having no problem eating gluten free. Our tia is a great cook who can make all things with corn flour (it's the main ingredient of most tortillas here).

For Jackie: Don't worry I took a picture of the house. I think you will be surprised at how big our house is. I never wrote about our great wrap around porch and the best seat in the house: the hammock. We bought one...but with six people, I rarely get to sit in it. I will post pictures sometime when I have faster internet.

Javier is five. He's all boy, loves to please, to ask questions and
to make noise. 

Karen is four. She's cuddly, observant, and has a huge smile.
Somehow she is always on somebody's lap. 

Breysi is 5. She is observant, quiet and independent. 

Daily life

The large living room at our house--the girls watch a bit of a movie. Those chairs were all we had to sit on (except our beds). 

It's 96 degress outside. Which I think might be cooler than what some of you had recently, but we don't escape it(93 in the house). And we are used to sweating. The heat isn't high on my list of hardships. Guess what thing I miss the most? A couch.

The house they rented for us is brand new. They found us a stove, a small fridge, a table, wooden chairs and beds. But that's all the furnishings. And the house is good sized. Three bedrooms, all larger than any in my home and a large great room type of thing that is the kitchen, eating area and sitting area except there is nothing to sit on...the girls play soccer there! There are no closets in the bedrooms and no mirrors in the bathrooms ( we bought a little 8x10 mirror to share, but most days I have no idea what I look like unless I catch a glimpse of myself in the car window). We keep all of our clothes neatly folded in our suitcases (just kidding they start off neatly folded but don't last). The windows in this house are big and they don't have curtains so we hang sheets and towels over the windows so the cowboys tending the cows can't see us! The flooring everywhere is tile (I've never seen carpet here).

It gets dark earlier near the equator and light earlier. Our hours are more like 9 pm- 5 am. Some evenings we get go to the bed earlier because we can't stand sitting on these hard wooden chairs any longer and honestly, there are too many bugs on the floor to want to sit there for long.

Tia Maria washes the clothes and then hangs them on the line. Sometimes the humidity
 is so high it takes more than 24 hours for them to dry. 

Our tia washes our clothes by hand. Our whites are shining, but most clothes are stiff from soap residue and my favorite shirt got ruined by bleach (probably shouldn’t have brought it but last year I did my own laundty in a washing machine and never even saw bleach). We take our garbage to the dump where we literally dump it on a site with lush tropical mountains surrounding it and vultures on every hill top of rubbish. Families will walk to the dump to scavenge for food or other treasures.

I am hands down the favorite in our family among the bugs of Honduras though recently they have taken a liking to Hadley's behind (no joke, right through the shorts and the undies). And poor Hadley-- she so rarely gets bug bites (like Chris and Tom)-she is very unhappy. Kassy's hives and big reactions to bug bites have disappeared. I am the only one still wearing layers of insect repellent. When the bugs do bite, I never see them. The mosquitoes here aren't like Minnesota where the joke goes, "The state bird of Minnesota is the mosquito." But their bites are painful-they itch for two weeks and take a long time to heal. I wonder if some of them will leave a scar. I am told the bugs are a reason many Hondurans walk around in jeans. I get their thinking but it is still unfathomable to this northerner.

This trip is totally different from last year. We exist mostly on our own. We buy our own groceries and drive in a Durango they lent us. I see the kids every day and the Spanish teachers at the school, but can go a week without seeing Del or Jeannie (at least while this team of high schoolers is here). We communicate with our Tia in broken English and Spanish. There is not always much for us to do.

I’ve been puzzled and amazed by my lack of ability to let go of expectations and to instead, allow the missing creature comforts to bother me. Seems like a Christian should be able to live to glorify Christ and not waiver with circumstances. I am reading a book by DL Moody (yes there is time to read here too) called the Overcoming Life. He reminded me that we are in a battle and that faith will overcome the world, but it won’t happen suddenly. While on earth, we are not made completely new in an instant.

Honduran enchilada: tostada shell, meat, cabbage, cheese, egg, and sauce. 

Our life here is simple. A week ago I was ready to go home. Now I am relishing this time, with it’s slow pace and opportunity to love on more kids everyday. With a tia who cooks and cleans and only 3/4 day of responsibility, my thought life is cleansed. It isn't bogged down with lists of things to do, buy, or solve. For all needs we wait for the Lord because we can't go buy our way out of it. Every rain cloud or drop in temperature is a gift from above. There is time to pray, read my Bible, and play a game with my kids, or stare at the cows during the sunrise. This isn't a typical vacation, but it is a vacation.

Kassy has a crazy look in this picture! She is holding baby Stephanie,
the youngest child at Casa Cielo. She is between 3-4 months old. 

Henry is 3; he is Ethelyn's twin. He is a quiet troublemaker, but very sweet too.

School Days Honduran Style

Carol, writing in her journal. Carol is the daughter of one of the tias.
She and her mother live at the orphanage. 

Part of working in a foreign country means being quiet. Americans are opinionated people. We know the “best”, most efficient ways to do things. We get annoyed when things don’t meet our standards.

The day after we arrived, Jeanie took us to the school. We watched her teach the kids for the English part of class. The next day she handed over the reigns of this 16-member class to me, a high school English teacher who hasn’t taught in over 8 years. There is no curriculum, no guidelines. Thankfully there is a room full of donations of craft books, paper supplies, staplers, crayons, markers, puzzles, flash cards, etc. The current crafts on the wall were clearly done by the Spanish teachers who merely let the kids pick the colors. I have opinions, curriculum desires, ways I want to do things, but I am being quiet…my ways may not be best.

The students range in age from 3-6. But the real complication is the five kids, either children of the tias or from the village who didn’t grow up at the orphanage. They don’t know much English, and I don’t know enough Spanish. There is Sonya, a bilingual teacher who supervises the school and helps with the schooling of Joy, Mama and Papa’s 10-year-old. In a pinch, I drag a kid who doesn’t know what I want them to do or who won’t behave and can’t understand what I am saying, to Sonya who speaks for me.

Snack time at school--a volunteer medical team
 brought donuts for the kids.

Some of the standard practices here are appalling to us germophobic Americans. In the afternoon, the Spanish teachers regularly get one big cup of water and pass it around for drinking. The philosophy here seems to be, “They all live together, they all get sick together anyway.” Maybe true, but hard to watch. As much as I want to do things according to the culture, I still insist on separate cups. Maybe more disconcerting for me , was when Marlon threw up in the toilet at school and was told to return to the classroom. He said he ate too many pancakes for breakfast, but he ate 2, just like the rest of them! On a side note (try not freak out moms), my girls love the lack of seat belts and the wide open windows in a car here and Marie regularly takes all the babies and toddlers to the daycare she runs for working moms…that’s six babies and toddlers in her SUV, car seats don’t exist here as far as I can tell.)

While the safety and health issues are a bit of a bump in my comfort zone, the giant roadblock is the unpredictability. I like schedules. I like reliability, especially when I am teaching and feel woefully inadequate. And when my schedule gets unexpectedly messed with, I get grumpy.

Okay, so this picture of Kassy has nothing to do with the post
(except that is was taken in Honduras) but isn't she lovely?

Currently there is a team of 19 teenagers here. Most days three of them, always different ones, show up to help in the classroom. Some days there are four or five. Some days no one comes. While there is a schedule, it changes so much that I quit reading it and started to pray for peace and flexibility and creativity at the spur of the moment. On Wednesday I wasn’t expecting any help (except Pam who thankfully is always with me) and planned accordingly. Four helpers showed up. On Thursday I was expecting three helpers, four showed up plus three more from a a group of visitors and then a medical missions team came to give the kids check-ups which ended our school time early as the classroom was turned into an exam room. And while 10-year-olds can keep working when someone walks into their class, 4-year-olds have a tendency to run to familiar faces and give giant bear hugs and then forget what they were doing...flexibility. Peace. Joy. It’s okay to change the plans. I’m still praying through this one.

Oh, a surprise trip to a waterfall in the mountains is on our agenda in 30 minutes I must go. Of course, this is Honduras, maybe we will leave in the next two hours. Maybe the vehicle will make it up the mountain. Or maybe the alternator will go out. Always an adventure (Did I tell you about catching the escaped parrot?). Flexibility. Roll with the punches. God is good. All the time. In this, I shall not waiver.

(Post note: the waterfall trip was cancelled last minute, the girls and I went with the team to the hot springs which are practically across the street from our house...they are private so we can't just go whenever. But it poured the whole time and we never went in.)

Jose is 4, I think. He has an adorable laugh and a soft voice.
 He LOVES the attention of any male volunteer. 

Ethelyn is 3. Her twin brother is Henry. Ethelyn is
very mischievous but her smile will win you over.

A short one..

Michelle is 5. She is a perfectionist and tests all
volunteers to see if she has to behave.
She likes to be the example. 

Marlon is 6, the oldest child at Casa Cielo. He is
friendly, helpful and obedient.

Hello friends,
Thanks for your prayers. I can’t get the Internet to download the comment page so here’s a few personal messages.
Amanda! Yikes, I haven’t been gone that long, how could you have so much produce already? I wonder what Jordan is doing with all that stuff.
Mary Lynn—Hadley has written Alexis a long letter, but we need to buy an envelope and a stamp. That could take all week! And who knows how long it will take to arrive.

It’s cloudy again today. We’ve had clouds for at least five days now, for part of the day. Praise God. In Michigan, I get grumpy after days of clouds. Here I celebrate. I love the rain. It brings cooler air and relief.

Sleeping here is a challenge. One night, the cows that graze on two sides of our house decided to moo all night. Usually they are quiet. I remember a baby toy where you would turn a little can up side down and it would moo. Those toys had incredible sound accuracy. So one night the cows kept me awake. Then last night, Kassy woke up once whining for her water bottle. It was in the fridge because cold water is a treasure. When I went to get to water bottle (careful walking at night, there are spiders on the floor), the puppy was whining and whimpering. So I gave Copper more food and went to bed. Around 3:30 am, Kassy came back to our bed crying about a potty accident. Hadley and Kassy share a twin bed (yes, that’s been an adjustment). Their mattress had a big puddle of liquid poop, another puddle on the ground and a trail leading to the bathroom. We don’t have paper towels are here—they cost between $2.00-$3.00 US dollars for a roll. We don’t have cleaners, just bleach and dish soap. We don’t have rags. So we used our bath towels to clean up the mess, mopped the floor with bleach and then were wide awake. I took the soiled sheet and towels outside to the laundry sink. It was still dark, but the rooster next door was cock-a-doodle dooing to wake up the sun. Praise the Lord there was only one accident and no more traces of the issue so far today!.

Cano

Pam and Chris brought with us friends from Minnesota: Cano and Betty. Cano is Puerto Rican and his Spanish has been invaluable in communicating with tia and the Honduran workers at the property. Cano and Betty will leave tomorrow. We will miss them.

Alejandra and Betty

So some Honduran facts for you, from Papa Jones. Over 90% of kids in Honduras are fatherless. The culture here has little to no concept of marriage. A man sleeps with a women and feels no obligation to stay with her or to help raise the kids that may result. Domestic violence is a big problem. In fact, one morning our tia (Maria is a sweet, tiny woman who works hard and cooks brilliantly) showed up at her usual time of 6:30 am. She was crying. Her 12-year-old son was in tow. Her boyfriend had been drinking and didn’t want her to go to work. But she hasn’t worked in months (unemployment here is over 60%) and knew she needed to go because working for us is a trial for being hired at the orphanage. Her husband struck her, but she came anyway, bringing her son, for his safety. Papa Jones and Cano went home with Maria, and spoke harshly with the boyfriend. So far, so good.

My dad used to be frustrated with me because I took a bunch of Spanish in high school and a little in college and didn’t do anything with it. Languages don’t come naturally to me and I never went anywhere to actually practice. I’ve forgotten so much, especially my verb conjugations. But five of the kids in my class are from the village and know almost no English. I’m getting proficient at yelling Spanish commands and speaking simple sentences. My verb tenses are often incorrect, but the kids understand me. Dad, I’m using my Spanish!

A cow wandered down the highway
and into our ditch

Butcher shop in Village

I wish I could easily upload pictures for you (pictures you see here were added after I returned to the states.) I would upload pictures of all the bikers that go by on the highway: foreigners racing, bikers with two small kids on different parts of the bike, bikers with piles of wood or bales of food for the cows, bikers with ice cream trucks. And I’d take pictures of the houses. They know how to use color here. If a person can afford an actual cement house (as opposed to the many shacks built of scrap everything) they are colorful. Bright yellows, oranges, greens, and pinks. None of these tan, beige, or white houses of new developments in the US.

Selling mangos and avocados at market

Gotta go….thanks for reading. (I added more pictures at the end of post, scroll all the way down)