Learning to let go

Wrote this over a week ago. Just now getting around to posting it.

Like all people, I am prideful. Among other things, I pride myself on being responsible, dependable, and always on time. And if I don't monitor my thoughts, I judge others based on their ability to demonstrate these same characteristics. Sometimes these traits are an accurate meaure of an area a person needs help in, but sometimes, especially for people I don't know, life can just be crazy and make a person appear unreliable. I need to be more gracious.

So I've started these gardening classes. The first week, as I was driving to class, almost 5 minutes from home, I felt nervous. I hadn't done anything like  this in well over a decade. Was I still good at learning? What would people think of me? Still,  I felt incredibly...what's the word to describe it...whole. It had been a long time since I had done something of this magnitude that didn't benefit anyone in my family except me....just me and dirt soil,  and plants and growth and so much happiness.  And I felt guilty. My class ended more than an hour after the girls got home from school. Tom had to rearrange his schedule and break a rule or two to get home in time to watch the girls on Monday. Our dear friend Cody was watching them on Thursdays. I would have to ask more people to watch them during Spring Break. Oh how I wished for a Grandparent near by. And then I spent money, over $200 to take this class. Was it selfish? Is is worth it? If I sound silly to you, you probably aren't a full time mom or a gardener.

Before you start talking to me in your head and telling me what you think of my questions, remember that I am a female. I can have all these thoughts and still think that what I am doing is good. It is good for me and for my girls if I give up control and let someone else handle homework and after school stuff. It is healthy to pursue interests, especially when those interests will enable you to bless others later.  Sometimes I can see and feel the whole picture all at once. Very overwhelming.

The classes so far have been awesome. The teachers are the gardening gurus I imagined they would be. The classes are detailed, practical and mind-spinning. The class on pests even gave me a nightmare about home-invading moths. The teachers have straightened out some gardening myths (marigolds used to help keep pests out of a vegetable garden, but they smelled so bad that no one wanted to use them so the gardening industry bred them to not smell bad.). They've given me a new passion for the health of my soil. They've convinced me never to try and grow an orchard.  It's great.

Here's the rub. No one in that class knows I am reliable, responsible, or even on time. Every week something happens to prove to them that I am otherwise. And in God's grace, I am learning to be okay with that. Some examples:
--To get credit for attending the class, you have to sign in. Easy. No problem. Except I can't seem to remember to do it. I am juggling so many things in my brain that if I sit down on time, I take a deep breath and look around, not sign in. So then the next day, I have to call the director of the class and ask him to sign me in. 
--We have 8 hours of class, 4-6 hours of homework, and 2 take home quizzes every week. Needless to say my free time has disappeared. There is no time for extra errands or emergency trips. At the beginning of each class, you turn in the quiz and at the end, you pick up the new quiz. One class, I had to ask for an extension because Tom had taken my car to work and my finished quiz was in his car at Delta which is a 40 minute round-trip drive from my house. I felt like a high school student with a lame, made-up homework excuse.
--Another time I forgot to pick up the new quiz. I called the class director and had the quiz emailed to me. My printer was out of ink and it wasn't in the budget that week to replace the ink cartridge. I could have printed it at the library, but I've added 12 hours of stuff to my week and there is no time for extra library trips! I turned in a handwritten copy of the quiz!
--Because each class is 4 hours long, some person in class always brings a snack. My snack day was this past Monday. On Sunday night, I couldn't sleep. At all. I tried and tried and by Sunday morning was a blubbering mess. I'd had a reaction to the antibiotic I was taking for strep. It caused irregular heart beats and this pumped adrenaline into my body. Adrenaline is not designed for sleeping. So Monday when I was supposed to be making snack for my class, I was trying to sleep or going to the doctor's office. I never did sleep and I ended up late to class with the snacks because I was determined to make my original ideas which required time. Being late to class with snack means everyone turns and looks at you....interrupting the woody ornamentals god to explain why I was late and to please-wake- me up-if-I- fell-asleep didn't seem appropriate. The awesome part was that somewhere in the panic to make the snacks (popcorn, a veggie tray with dip, and worms and dirt--pudding, cookie crumbs, and gummy worms), I heard God whisper. He reminded me that He loves me and the people in that class are as judgemental as I usually am about being late, etc. it doesn't matter. Let them stare! I am a child of God. At that point, I stopped hurrying and enjoyed making those worms and dirt.

Now if I can just be more gracious....

Update

I love this picture of the girls on a cold winter night, playing together in their heated tree house!

A perk of not blogging in a long time is that a dear friend from Montana, who was used to my blogging, called me to see how I was. No more stalking! But for my dear relatives who love the images that come with cyberspace journaling...an update. I skipped the Christmas month...so sorry.
Where to start? I'll add subtitles so you can read what you want.
Snow Day
Do you remember being a kid and having the perfect snow day? We had perfection this winter.  The snow hadn't really started falling Tuesday night, but school for Wednesday was already canceled. Even Tom's college canceled Wednesday on Tuesday night. That meant we could shut off the alarm clocks. We woke up to drifts of white, in the end it was 18 inches thick, if you count what was already on the ground.  I wish I could have sent some to my kiddos in Honduras. The snow fell until about noon and it was a nasty, windy day. But we live in the city, with tiny city lots and houses close together. Our neighborhood is over 70 years old, the trees are large and sturdy. We have to look up to see if it is windy as the buildings and trees deceive us (during soccer season we just know the soccer field is 10 degrees cooler than our backyard because of how protected our yard is). Tom, who doesn't like spending the day indoors without a plan, spend 75% of the day outside, shoveling, snowblowing (we inherited a small Honda when our dear neighbor passed away in November), chatting with neighbors, and digging motorists out who thought they could go somewhere. The girls spent at least 2.5 hours outside that day playing, getting buried by their daddy's shovels of snow, picking icicles, and helping Tom with the first stages of the quinzhee (indian word for what I call an igloo).  We had Thursday off too. After two days off, I was sure Friday was really Monday.

 

Art Honor
In other news, Hadley's art teacher entered some of her art in a district-wide art fair. She won an award within her school for best design. I was glad the art teacher (who is fabulous) met us at the award ceremony. She pointed out the details in the layering of Hadley's art. Good thing she educated me, because secretly, looking at the other students' work, I kept wondering why Hadley won. Hers wasn't nearly as neat as the others. But it was a confidence-boosting event.
Welding

Metal man: Tom the welder

Tom is taking welding classes through his college this semester. He's always wanted to work with his hands and welding is something he didn't know much about (he can already do basic carpentry, electrical, etc. ). I think he dreams of not teaching spring or summer sessions and working with his hands at a totally different kind of job. He loves welding and is apparently quite talented at it. He bought himself the required self-darkening helmet which makes us all laugh.
Gardening
I'll be back in the classroom again soon...not as a teacher (though if I were single I would fly back to Honduras and teach those kiddos again as they need a teacher). I'm in the review process to be part of the Master Gardeners program through the University extension. It requires 8 hours of classes a week for 7 weeks, tests, and volunteer hours. I love learning. I hope it works out. It might help me as I dream about spring.
Light Bulbs

Tom and Hadley do circuit work!

Hadley's been learning about energy at school. Part of the science labs associated with the unit included making a circuit board. She came home and mentioned the project at the dinner time. Mr. Idea Man, aka Tom, got his wheels spinning. He and Hadley spent that weekend making their own circuit board light bulb puzzle. Each light bulb has a certain sequence of switches it needs to be turned on.  Hadley took it to school and all the kids had fun with it.
North and South
On a funny note, I was teasing Hadley the other day because she still struggles with her right and left. She said, "I know my north and south better."
"Really? How do you know?"
"North is up and south is down, it's much easier."
Somewhere I think she misunderstood part of learning to read a map.
 The Little Cook

Kassy loves to cook and with my supervision, she's been making us all fried eggs on weekend mornings. It's delightful. Hadley is terrified of the new gas stove Tom bought me for Christmas ("Mom, it has real fire!"). Cooking is the one thing Kassy loves to do that Hadley doesn't do. I think she relishes having something of her own.

Diabetic News
I just finished a great book called Cheating Destiny. It's a history of diabetes. It's been years since I have read a book that took me to such emotional extremes. I went from gratefulness for insulin (I might be dead if I was born 100 years earlier) to flowing tears as I faced fears of my children developing the disease to anger over the way medical research happens. The best part was reading an author who understands the emotions and who doesn't blame me. No doctor or nutritionist has ever addressed the emotional struggles. All chronic diseases create complicated emotional landscapes within. Diabetes is wonderfully and horribly unique in that sometimes, a patient can have so much control. If you eat right, exercise right, sleep enough, monitor enough, you can avoid complications. Maybe. Depends on your body. With that good news can come guilt and frustration. I love the book and highly recommend it.

After reading this and a book called The Little Diabetes Handbook For You. I finally settled some issues in my mind. I've read in multiple places that some doctors think the best diet for a diabetic is a super low or no carbohydrate diet. One doctor even claims that in cases of type 2 diabetes such a diet will restore some insulin receptor cells and insulin production. I toyed with the idea of this diet. For the second time, I've decided it doesn't matter if this diet low-carb diet works, I can't do it. Not at this stage of my life and that's okay.

We used food coloring to paint in the snow!

I saw my doctor this past week. My lowest a1c ever...6.7. I'd like to bring it down to 6.5 or lower, but I am well withing the recommended guidelines. All my numbers were awesome...cholesterol, blood pressure, kidney function. She called me Ms. Perfect. It was a good feeling, though I know as I age, it will become more difficult.

Love to all of you. Drop me a note so I know how you are. And as gift to my dear friends who sometimes want to see the photographer...Hadley took this picture of me and the coats and shoes for you!

Oh dear. One post a month and to think I used to post every other day. My relatives have been missing the regular updates. They wonder if I have moved everything to Facebook. I am on Facebook, and I enjoy the more instant Feedback of Facebook. Blogging proved a bit unsatisfying as I posted for the world with little feedback, but more than that my world has altered. I am no longer a stay-at-home mom confined in my adventures to whatever schedule my little ones allow. With more time alone, there is more on my to-do list and less need to vent all those pent up thoughts. Also, too many people know about this blog. Not that this is bad, but if I am pondering the little girl drama in Hadley's life, I can't write about it. One of the moms of the little girls involved might read it, and misunderstand. Mothers, including myself are dangerously sensitive when it comes to their children. An honest critique (or maybe not so honest since I am always biased toward my own children) can be too hard to swallow. Also the girls are bigger now. Their issues and struggles are no longer mine to share freely. Well, I could, but they wouldn't like it. A toddler throwing a tantrum over having to leave the playground is safer (and more humorous) for sharing than the sobbing of a little girl on a day she feels like no one likes her. So there you go, that's part of the silence of the blog.

But dear family, I know you want stories and pictures. Let me catch you up. 

The girls spent hours one weekend building this home for their little plastic toys called Zoobles. I love their creativity though I don't always know where or how long to store their creations.

Kassy finally lost her first tooth. Both bottom teeth are missing now. She's growing out her bangs again and I am trying not to scream every time she fails to wear a barrett.

Above: painting of a garden from Kassy to me. Below: The sweet note on the back of the painting.

My parents were here for a weekend in October. It was full of soccer.

My friends who helped stuff 400 treat bags for Halloween. We ran out after an hour and a half.

Hadley was Princess Leia for the school costume parade.

The girls are learning classical guitar. It is precious to watch them pluck out Ode to Joy. Some day I'll post a video.

Kassy's soccer team was in a tournament Halloween weekend. It was a long day Saturday. It was pool play with two games in the pool play. Winner of the pool play advanced to the finals. We didn't win pool play and had to play in the semi-final and then the final. We started at 8 am (almost in the dark), played at noon, and again at 2 and the final at 4. But those girls won. They did awesome. Kassy played goalie for the whole final game and did great.

We really got into Halloween this year. This is our castle. I can't take any credit. My friends created and implemented the whole thing while I was at the soccer tournament.

Asian Princess and Laura Ingalls Wilder. Kassy's dress was made by my mom. I wore it as a little girl. It's precious to see it worn again. I always felt so beautiful in that dress. The bonnet came from Crossroads village, an historical village in Flint.

My dear friends who created our Halloween event!

A fall project: to find a way to organize the school stuff, sports stuff, shoes and outdoor-wear. It took a lot of searching to find the cheapest and most effective way to do this  but I am pleased with the results. And six weeks later, it still like like this...mostly.

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!