“This Isn’t What I Signed Up For.”

I woke up with great expectancy and excitement that next day, Emily and I both did. I wasn’t only eager to share this journey with my husband, but we were fortunate to have our 16 year old daughter with us as well. While this would be Tim’s third visit to Honduras, it was my and Emily’s first experience. She had been wanting to go on this trip even longer than I had and now that we were here, she couldn’t wait to hold those beautiful, bright-eyed children we had seen in so many of the pictures. Em adores children and I am convinced that God gave her an extra reservoir of love and understanding in her heart for them; a soft spot that continues to grow the more she is able to interact with His little ones. I knew God had something special in store for her and I was anxious to be by her side and witness what He would do through her and reveal to her as the week went on.

Equally so, I was anxious to see our sister church and finally be able to share in a ministry with my husband. We had both enjoyed participating in many different ministries but as time passed, we began to realize that the areas we were involved in, though worthy they may have been, were not ones that we could enjoy and grow together. Each of us had women and men’s studies, an event or two and an occasional retreat but most everything catered to women. One of the reasons that the mission trips had meant so much to Tim was that they gave men like him an opportunity to really share his heart and hands-on skill in a way that not only served God but that also served others in a real and necessary way. He has always been a practical guy but I had no idea that missions was his passion until after that first trip, and now miraculously God was allowing me to work shoulder to shoulder and heart-deep in that same meaningful ministry. I was so ready and excited.

I am typically not a morning person, and Emily is even less of one; you’re best to let her slowly wake up on her own and when she does choose your words sparingly for the first hour or so. This particular morning though we were both up, showered and having our first cups of coffee long before the bus was scheduled to leave. That sparkle was in her eyes and I could see the anticipation building.

We had been blessed to have a diverse group on this team and I was looking forward to getting to know those who I hadn't met yet. From the moment she first welcomed us at the airport I knew Xiomara would be someone to make this experience a good one. I had heard so many wonderful things about her, not only as the Honduran pastor's wife but also as someone who had become quite close to our teams as she had provided translation for them over the years. She greeted us with a warm smile and big hugs; her generous spirit made me feel comfortable from the very beginning. She was genuinely eager to see everyone and immediately began helping us traverse through every aspect of the coming day, but what I loved most about her was her laughter. To see that she was not only a woman of great faith who fully supported her husband but that she did so with a gracious personality and a sense of humor was such a joy.

She was joined by a few other Hondurans who would be making our experience possible as well: Kelsy, her nephew, Alan, our bus driver and Matias, the local foreman on the job site. All of whom loved to laugh and talk and help us in any way that we needed. Our American team included women and men from teens to seniors, seasoned mission workers to first-timers. We were as diverse in personality as age and occupation but we were all there to bring honor to the same God and to be used in whatever way He asked of us. There was much enthusiasm in our group as we all boarded the bus and headed out to the church.

The countryside that we drove though for the next 20-30 minutes had me completely awe-struck, and though I had yet to understand just how much or why I was so taken by it, I was drinking in everything that my eyes could see. After many scenic miles, we eventually arrived safely in Santa Cruz where we were all eager to find out what kind of an impact a year's time had on the church and to join up with our Honduran church family.

My first impression of the building was, “That is a very bright shade of…. pink, or is it coral, maybe salmon?” My next thought was "What a joyful color and are the people just the same?" I would soon learn the answer but for now, the church was holding all of my attention. The progress on the building itself was quite impressive and as I stepped off the bus it began to sink in, I was finally here!

I was finally able to stand on site of the place that had taken root in Tim’s heart. I walked up the set of cement steps that the mission team had built on his last trip and through the heavy double glass doors that I had only seen in pictures until now. Even though I knew what would welcome me beyond those doors, my first vision of the sanctuary was pretty awesome. It was a large, open and inviting room that offered a sweeping view of the first floor. The few adornments of the room included the tile flooring in a patterned teal green and the ceiling-to-floor burgundy and gold drapes that stretched along the front wall. In contrast, multi-colored plastic chairs, the kind we typically use on porches, are stacked up along the wall ready for use when time for service. Though void of stain-glassed windows, varnished pews or an ornate cross, this open room was simply beautiful because of what it did offer – an uncluttered, unpretentious place to worship the God of salvation and hope. On a paper banner hung above the pulpit, read the words, “Se Libre.” I asked Xiomara what the words meant and was told it reads, “Be Free or We’re Free.” As I stand in a room with black security bars encasing the windows and doors I realize just how profound those simple words are.  In some ways it is a stark reminder of the reason we are here, to show love and bring hope to those who live in an economically challenged country. Yet, those two words tell me that they may have already found something that has eluded many of us who live in a privileged society. Judging by the wide smiles and loud noises that are emanating from the men outside, I’d say our Honduran friends have found something to be joyful about and are anxious to share with us as well.

Matias and the local crew of men were already on site busily constructing their own version of wood-plank scaffolding when we arrived. Offering hearty handshakes and broad smiles of recognition, they seemed as genuinely glad to see us as we were to be there with them. I was able to pick out a few familiar faces from the pictures I had seen and watched as Tim and the other men got reacquainted. Even though an obvious language barrier exists among us all, the eagerness to work together, to learn from one another and make progress unites everyone with excitement. Soon a work mode has fallen over the group, each one taking up tools, sifting sand or mixing cement while others finding their place on the scaffolding above. A steady and comfortable routine falls over the site and the work continues.We watch with wonder and anticipation.

Ten minutes, fifteen and eventually 30 minutes go by as we continue to watch and now wonder where we belong. The longer we stand and watch the more the reality – and the disappointment filters in and throws a damper on our bursting enthusiasm. It appears we haven’t found a place here yet, there’s no need for us as everyone else has taken to their jobs of years’ past. Tim is high above me slinging cement with some of the others, so much for working with him today. Instead, we wait for instruction on where we might go and what we might do. Watching. Waiting. My feeling of uselessness rises. I sense that Emily's frustration is matching my own, she keeps looking around and finally asks, “Where are the kids?”   I don’t have an answer for her, I was wondering the same.

After what seems like forever but is really about a half hour, one of our team members offers Em a shovel so that she can take a turn sifting sand. I am grateful that he noticed and I feel a bit better. Her turn is short-lived though, there is more sand to be sifted than available area to mix the cement so she waits until the buckets are full of the wet cement before they can mix another batch.

The longer I stand there, the more deflated my expectations become; I walk to the back of the church thinking maybe there's something for me there. Or if not, at least no one will see me feeling dejected and unproductive. The other women on the team have a place as well; Xiomara, Linda and Toni are waiting for the local pastor to take them to the children’s coordinator’s home where they will plan the children’s activities for the week. All I can do is wonder how many children there are and pray that Emily will have an opportunity to work with them. I try to look busy taking pictures of anything and everything: the crew on the ground mixing cement, the crew on the scaffolding slinging cement, the collection of houses in the neighborhood, our big, yellow bus parked on the narrow road, back to the busy workers. I take pictures of the inside of the church, every room and floor; then the outside of the building, every possible side and angle. Onto a stray dog that has wandered on-site and the various tools strewn about.  All the while, I worry if anyone is wondering why I’m not doing more or noticing how useless I am at the moment. I wanted to contribute in some meaningful way, to finally share in a worthwhile ministry but I’m at a loss to know how. All I do know is this wasn’t what I expected. “This isn’t what I signed up for,” I think to myself.

  

                                                                              

                                  

 

                                           

                                                                                                                      
                                            

                                        

                                                                                                                                           
                                                                               

                                        

I'm not sure if she noticed how lost I felt, but as the women prepare to leave for their planning session, Linda asks if I would like to go along and bring Emily. I kind of want to say, “Not really, I came to help work on the church.” But what argument do I have? Why I thought I came really doesn’t matter at this point, having something to do, does. I hope Emily will benefit from knowing what is going on with the kids’ activities so I call her over and before long we pile into the car. Em is sitting on my lap, her head is bent low by the car’s roof due to her gracious height as we all squeeze into a little car that I think will take us to a house that is “just a little ways up the road past the church.” Several blocks later of dusty, bumpy dirt roads lined with barbed-wire topped fences, a smattering of shrubs and trees, more skinny, wandering dogs and a few glorious smiling children waving, we arrive to a neighborhood of small yards and two-story homes. Up to this point, I was a little nervous to be leaving our team of men behind while the five of us women trekked off on our own. The widening distance between us and our men combined with the safety bars on all of the houses and glass shard gates that we were driving past, didn’t particularly ease my concern. I try to imagine living here and when I do, I realize it’s not much different than driving in a neighborhood in the U.S. and seeing security system signs posted on people’s lawns and homes; you do what you have to to protect your family.

By this time I had grasped the truth that God is with us no matter where in the world we are and that we are always safer in His will than anywhere else we could choose to be. The things that appeared dangerous or primitive in their culture lost some of their grip as I trusted in that truth. Even so, I was quite glad to finally come to a stop so we could unfold ourselves from the confines of the cramped and now sweat-sticky car. When we climb out we are greeted by two curious German shepherds who immediately make me rethink getting back into the car, that is until an adorable curly black-haired, bright-eyed little girl bounces through the gate and rushes up to greet us. Emily and I exchange the first genuinely excited smiles we’ve had since getting on the bus that morning and just stare at this little bundle of joy. Yay, there’s a child within hugging distance!

Nahomy, as we soon learn her name is very glad to see everyone, she gives big hugs to Linda and Toni who she met last year and looks a little timidly at Emily and I. Dripping with childhood cuteness, she leads us up to the large porch where her young mother is waiting with big hugs for everyone. Elda is stunningly beautiful with a smile that lights up her face and eyes that dance. She is talking so lively and animated, it is clear to see that she is a person of great joy. In a flourish that demands attention, Nahomy rushes over to the rainbow-colored hammock stretching from one side of the wide porch to the other where we all turn and see the adorable bundle that is cradled there. Such bright and searching eyes he has as he looks around contentedly. A mass of dark curly hair frames his little cherubic face and we all say a collective, “Awwww,” upon sight of baby Jorge. Yay again, now we have a child and a baby to adore!  

                                                                         

Everyone soon finds a place in Elda’s living room where the women – at least those who can speak Spanish, quickly get to the business of planning the children’s lessons, crafts and program ideas for the week. Emily and I watch and listen, not knowing a word of what is spoken but understanding more than words can say. In her enthusiasm and laughter, it is quite evident that Elda’s love for Jesus is contagious, one she truly wishes to bring to the children. I think how fortunate they are and wonder if they know what a rare gift they’ve been given, the pure praise she offers is hard to find in a land of plenty like America, let alone in a land where its more difficult to find as much to be grateful for. The longer the women plan, the more their excitement grows, and the higher and faster their voices rise in anticipation for what God is going to do among us this week. Laughter and joy float through the room and women who are separated by a culture are easily joined by the love of the same God who brought them together with one another. Suddenly, I don’t miss being at the work site waiting for instructions that may or may not come. I’m not thinking about if I’m going to get a turn to contribute to the building of the church, I’m too busy enjoying the blessings of seeing the church being built and expanded right in front of me.

A cute and curious three year stares up at me and I wish for all the world that I knew a bit of Spanish to communicate to this little one; instead I just smile and wink watching a little grin run across her face. Nahomy moves toward Emily and I can tell that my sensitive daughter is struggling with the same feelings of awe as I am; so much desire for getting to know our new friends but having no idea where to begin. Nahomy shows Em her shoes and there is suddenly a connection, “You like Dora?” Em asks, and she quickly shakes her head yes in agreement, “Dora!”  Such a little thing but it’s a start, a spark that reignites that expectation that we had at the start of the day to see God at work.

We spent the next couple of hours in Elda’s home, trying our best to communicate with everyone, soaking in the sweet spirit that was moving and taking turns loving on the precious baby Jorge. We also had the opportunity to meet Elda’s sister-in-law who is just as warm and lovely, a wonderful seamstress who teaches young girls and women how to sew. Before we had to return to the church for lunch, Elda and Teresa’s children arrive from school. Josmary, Elda’s oldest daughter is about 7 and Teresa’s son Victor couldn’t be much older while Lisbeth must be around 10 or 11. They were all so polite and respectful yet enjoyed joking with each other as kids do. Another reminder that God’s children are everywhere and that we are all more alike than we ever imagined.

Being in her home that she graciously opened to all of us, being served refreshments immediately upon arriving, watching them interact with one another while still offering smiles and questions to include us and just enjoying their sweet personalities all culminated into a picture of such generosity and faith. A faith that I was soon to learn had been tested and tried by our gracious hostess, a woman so excited to share her story with us. I will never forget listening to Elda’s testimony about how God had brought her from the brink of death after Jorge was born, only four short months earlier.  As Elda retold the events surrounding Jorge's birth, Xiomara translated for us. Not only had the doctors given up on her ability to recover but they reaffirmed their dismal prediction by telling her husband to make arrangements and adjust to life without her. She however, never gave up on God’s power and desire to restore her to health and continued to assure her family that she would indeed be healed and return to her home. To the amazement of the doctors and her family, she not only recovered but there was no indication that the healthy and vibrant woman sitting before us had ever been so desperately ill. 

Hearing about someone’s testimony is one thing but hearing it from themselves with such fervency and adoration for God is far more inspiring. I quietly sat in awe of the gift that I had just been given, a gift that I wouldn’t have experienced while sifting sand or mudding a wall. I’m so glad there wasn’t a place for me at the work site that morning because God had better plans in store for me and Emily than I ever expected.

Beautiful Elda

All of the disappointment and sulking of earlier seemed foolish and was quickly forgotten in light of all that God had shown us. There is a place for everyone to contribute to the church; holding a baby is just as important as holding a shovel, sharing a testimony just as worthy as sharing a turn slinging cement, sitting in a foreign sister’s living room just as necessary as standing high above on scaffolding, and connecting heart to heart just as important as working shoulder to shoulder. No, this wasn’t what I signed up for but thank God, this is what He graciously gave to me anyway. I had to wonder, how many of His upgrades had I missed out on because I wasn’t able to see beyond my own expectations. I don’t know what is in store for the remainder of the week but I pray that I fully experience all of His intentional blessings.

                                        

The Day I Died, Compliments of Delta


  I used to say that the only condition in which I would ever consider getting on a plane is if it were a life or death situation. On the final day of February 2012, that prediction became a reality. As I found myself soaring at unfathomable heights toward a foreign land, I realized that the one who was dying was me. That realization didn’t sink in it all at once though, it came in waves and rolls and sudden turmoil, much like the journey I was about to begin.

There I sat, window seat, on my first flight ever with my husband and our daughter, who had both flown before. What had started in the very early morning hours as an exciting adventure, albeit a little nerve-wracking with the whole security and boarding procedure was now taking a turn for, “What were you thinking, Deanna?” The excitement was giving way to reality and I was very aware that there was no turning back now. I don’t care what anyone else on that plane says, my first flight was not a most welcoming one. For one thing, the inside of an airplane is so much smaller than what they portray on T.V. Why I wouldn’t have guessed that, or why my husband wouldn’t have warned me, I don’t know. But for someone who is claustrophobic and experiencing this whole flying thing for the first time, it wasn’t at all what I was hoping for. However, Tim was very understanding (and probably feeling a little guilty for not adequately preparing me) and talked me through everything that was happening:  from the clunking of the landing wheels to the rush of air being sucked out of my lungs at take-off and even into the first little waves of turbulence. And had that been the extent of my first experience on an airplane, I would have considered it a successful one. Instead, it was right after several more jolts of turbulence had rocked the aircraft when the captain’s voice came on over the intercom; he apologizes in advance for the flight ahead and then, much to my already borderline panic, asks the flight attendants to also take their seats and for everyone to secure their seat belts. No one, it seems, including Tim and Emily are remotely affected by this, which tends to irritate me just a little bit more. This unexpected development did nothing productive for me and a warm reassurance did not come over me at this point - or at any point thereafter. Nor did it help to be told repeatedly, “it’s just like hitting pot holes on a road.” Okay, I get the analogy and while I appreciate your effort, I can survive pot holes! And as an added bonus they don’t flood my stomach with nausea and fear. I was sure that this stretch of lofty and looming skies was endowed with more 'pot holes' than a California highway after an earthquake. So for the next hour and a half I did a little hyperventilating and fake smiling, and whole lot of embedding my nails into my palms and intense private praying. I was truly never more glad to see land than when we began to descend into Atlanta. I didn't even care if it was a rough landing at this point, just as long as we landed at all.  I had no idea how I was going to get on our second flight without being knocked out first.

After joining the rest of our mission team in the terminal, I was pleased to hear at least one other person say, “That was a rough ride wasn’t it?” The fact that she was a business woman and seasoned traveler completely validated my feelings,  “YES, YES in fact it was!” I was screaming on the inside. But instead I heard my voice squeak a meager, “Oh, well it wasn't as smooth as I had expected .”  Only God and I knew at this point what an obstacle this gripping fear still was for me; I felt my sense of adventure begin to fade while we waited for our second and longer flight from Atlanta to San Pedro, Honduras.

At least for that second flight I was a little more prepared for the confined area I was entering and more accustomed to the sights and sounds around me. Not wanting to be made fun of or left in the city-sized, Atlanta airport by myself was also a big incentive for not protesting the next flight. More importantly, even if my heart faltered I knew that I was following God’s lead. With only His strength to carry me, I was somehow able to walk onto the next plane. 

It had taken four long years, trusting God with all financial and health obstacles that remained, and the demise of my pride,to bring me to this point. I knew I was meant to be on this trip and that God’s hand had orchestrated it. That comforting thought led to another and before long I was remembering my proclamation  about only getting on an airplane in the event of someone’s death. While we glided effortlessly through the clouds on this leg of the journey, the realization dawned that with every mile behind me and every step before me, I was the one who was dying; leaving behind my old worn-with-worry self and welcoming a new, trusting and eager version who God intended from the start.

For many years I had enjoyed living a blessed life, a comfortable and safe one where I was in control of the everyday events. But I wasn’t really living. Slowly I had drifted toward a life of stagnant complacency and eventual discontent. Have you been there? Not everything, but some of what I had been living for became less satisfying and more constricting. I was suffocating in the life I created for myself and I needed an outlet. Out of all that I had taken for granted, out of my safety net and into something more satisfying and meaningful. For the present moment, that ‘something more’ included venturing into an airplane bound for a distant and unknown land. Why? Because God was asking me to and the box I had been keeping Him no longer satisfied my spiritual hunger. It was never meant to. My comfort zone wasn't so comfortable anymore.

  

I could have lived a lifetime joyfully raising my kids, teaching Bible classes, studying and gaining more knowledge, but not until I exchanged my life of self-preservation for one of surrendered faith would I ever really experience the Christian life.

The one fear greater than giving up control, was the same fear that proprelled me forward now – the fear of living outside of God’s will and never knowing all He had waiting for me to discover.

I was so tired of sitting at life's departure gate waiting for my “purpose” to land at my feet. God answered with “Your purpose is to trust me and follow me out of your comfort zone and just see what I have waiting…”

And so I did, I followed Him and found myself in the one place I said I would never go - on an airplane. And that's the very place He needed me to be willing to go. If that meant dying in a plane crash than at least it was on my way to fulfill His plan and I was at peace with that. Because honestly, it doesn't matter what our own personal wants or fears are, the safest place will always be in the midst of God's will and not our own. I had a feeling though that there was to be more to this trip than dying to myself at hundreds of thousands of feet in the air.

Thankfully, I was right and the flight to Honduras was much smoother and void of any drama. I still wasn't any more fond of flying than when this day began but I was a different person upon arrival than who I was when we departed that morning. Somewhere in the beautiful blue above, I had died to self and all it's lies and was now living with a peace I couldn't explain, a joy I couldn't contain and a hope I had never known.  

As my feet touched the warm foreign soil of Honduras, I knew that the adventure of my faith resurrection was about to begin.

" Then Jesus told his disciples, 'If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it."  ~ Matthew 16:24-25

Ready to Soar...

Ready to Soar
...continued from the previous blog, "The Perfect Storm."

 God was up to something.

I don't think either Tim or I would have believed what that "something" was even if He had chosen to tell us face to face. Nonetheless, we were about to begin a journey that would reveal glimpses of what might lie beyond the horizon.

                                                                    
 The main reason why I wanted to support my husband’s trip to Honduras was because I realized how much it meant to him. To fully understand why you’d have to know the type of man he is. Tim has been described by most people as quiet, reserved and hard-working, and while that might be accurate, that is only what is seen on the surface.

I would more accurately describe him as faithful, sure and selfless. He is the most selfless person I have ever met. While he would give and do anything for those he loves, he never asks for anything in return. Ever. I have exhausted every possible gift idea imaginable and created several elaborate attempts to celebrate his birthdays, our anniversary, and Christmas, all to no avail. Finally, I resigned my gift-giving heart to the fact that my man isn’t impressed by tangible presents or contrived notions. He simply isn’t driven by “stuff,” he is driven by compassion and necessity. He’s devoted to things that matter and that’s all he asks in return.

And that is what I wanted to give to back to him – an opportunity to share that compassion and deeply rooted faith in a ministry that would meet significant practical and spiritual needs.


It was through this “perfect gift” that my Father of Wonders would teach me to soar.


So, with a trembling heart and a weak smile, I faced the storm head on and sent my husband off to another country ~ and I am so glad I did! Not only did Tim thrive on the mission trip but I survived my 10 day mini-storm of him being away. Each new day that God was supplying me with His peace and provision, He was supplying Tim with clarity. While I was learning to stretch my wings and look beyond the nest, Tim was finally able to fly beyond the limitations offered in everyday life. We were getting a little stronger, enjoying a better view. While I was grateful that we had both experienced deeper levels of faith and confidence, I was anxious for him to get home where we could start growing and sharing together. He had experienced something amazing and I was grateful, but much to my surprise, I was a little envious as well. I had wanted to share something this amazing together. Even so I was looking forward to seeing what more we could discover within the same flight pattern, and I wasn’t disappointed.


Six weeks after he returned home, Tim went back to work, having been laid-off throughout the winter. Normally, I dread this annual transition with loss and panic, our lives abruptly change since his work days can be 14-16 hours leaving very little time for family. But the peace I gained while he was on his trip stayed with me and for the first time in several years, the transition was not as emotionally trying. Meanwhile, Tim’s faith had been re-ignited in a way that gave him confidence to initiate a men’s bible study. My “quiet and reserved” husband got excited (literally and emotionally!) about creating lessons and sharing them with other guys. The glory on the other side was truly worth it.


We were making the most of the time we had with renewed enthusiasm and anticipation of what God had in store.  I thought we were doing well, riding on the currents of peace and confidence. It was wonderful, I had prayed for this for such a long time so the new territory that we were exploring together felt pretty good. But the months were passing by and I sensed what was coming.


The days that followed Tim's return from Honduras, I knew that I could forget any notion of him “getting missions work out of his system.” On the contrary, it only breathed life into a longing in his heart that had been lying dormant for many years. So, when he approached the idea of going back the next year, I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t thrilled either, but I wasn’t surprised and it wasn’t quite so difficult to give him my blessing. Who was I to clip his wings and get in the way of God’s plan?  I felt proud of myself for having coming so far.


And yet, it wouldn’t be long before I was on the verge of upsetting the whole nest for a second time. I was about to hit some serious turbulence in my new found atmosphere.


Within a few short weeks of Tim’s decision to make his second trip, we were made known of an opportunity by a very dear friend of ours. Over the years I had come to highly respect and love this man as a brother, he simply lives what he believes. I felt blessed by his genuine friendship; it came complete with honesty, understanding and frequent bouts of humor. So when he presented us with the possibility to take another member of our family on the mission trip, I almost laughed. Seriously, he knew me and my limitations better than that! Tim was more than welcome to take on the joys of the jungle but I was still working on being more faithful than fearful in homegrown areas of my life. 

And that’s when I heard him say, “Not you Deanna, I was talking about Scott.”


I don’t know what emotion filtered through my brain, body and veins first but I do know that it wasn’t close to anything good. My wings started to falter and the ground was rushing up to meet me where I had screeched to a mid-air halt. I was instantly overwhelmed with a fear that loomed larger than any that had been  present when Tim went on this same trip last year. My newly created comfort space had been invaded again and I was scared, but mostly I was angry. I was angry at myself for reverting to my fear mode, angry at the two men who seemed perfectly fine with this grand idea, and I wasn’t very happy with God at the moment either. The One who had brought me out here in this open air space and Who now wanted me to send my first-born even further than I was willing to go myself?


And so, I'm not proud of this at all, but I began to argue with God, “Are you kidding me? Really God, wasn’t last time enough, didn’t I obey You and earn my “wings” already? This is Scott’s senior year, I’m already an emotional wreck at having to watch him go off to college in less than a year and now You want me to let him go somewhere dangerous too? You know he isn’t quite like his father, Scott’s curious, impulsive and a bit reckless. Yes, I know where he gets it from, but that’s not the point! You’re going to give him an experience of a life-time without me? What are you going to suggest next, that I let Emily go too?” (I would later find out that some questions are better left unspoken unless you’re ready for the answer.)


While I’m having my private mental melt-down my husband is obviously over-joyed at the thought of Scott joining him on the trip and my mentor friend appears to be pretty pleased as well. Both of whom are now looking at me for a response? Both of them knowing me well enough to fully understand that my heart is breaking and my thoughts are silently screaming. 


“I’m a mom, don’t you guys get it? Don’t you know what you’re asking of me?” All I wanted at that moment was to get out of that room, go protect my nest and start clipping wings. If you are wondering if I realized how selfish I was acting, the answer would be yes. But I also realized something else, the turbulence that was threatening my faith wasn’t only fed by fear, it was joined by a surprising new surging gale called envy. This time I wasn’t only being left behind, I was being left out of having the chance to soar higher. That realization startled me even more.


Honestly, I have no idea what happened or what was said next. If I were to guess, I’d say that Tim got a clue that I was not “feeling the enthusiasm” and suggested that we think about it and get back to him. What I do remember is that it would be less than two weeks and a lot of tears and prayers later before I was warily giving my consent and pushing my “baby” bird out of the nest.


The false security of control that I had allowed to hold me back had also tied down my family and their potential. I knew that part of riding the currents of God’s plan meant that sacrifices of control needed to be made to get there. I had seen my husband soar after his first trip, there had been no denying it, so why would I not want the same for my son even if it meant he would be taking this flight without me?


Because Scott had felt a nudge toward music ministry about four months prior, I suspected the trip was an experience that God was providing a greater benefit that I couldn't see. While I was excited about Scott's calling, it took me a little longer to get excited about the trip. Several weeks later, as I was pulling suitcases out of the closet, I started to feel that twinge of envy again and since I was on more amiable speaking terms with Him now, I suspiciously asked, “God what are you up to?”


His answer came quietly and sure, speaking to my heart. I had been coasting on the tailwinds of last year’s experience but it was no longer satisfying. Because I had released my control for His plan, was I ready to fly farther and go higher if He asked me to? If He turned my twinge of envy into a future possibility would I take it? The question was did I trust Him?


Did I trust Him to conquer these deeper fears that now involved my son? Did I trust Him to do again what He had done before and grant me peace and strength as I faced this new challenge? Did I trust Him to provide brighter skies and new opportunities upon their return? And the biggest question of all “Was I going to trust Him if those new opportunities led me to farther, more lofty skies than I had ever intended to risk?”  Fear was losing its grip, faith was gaining momentum and a new and glorious wind started to blow.


Scott did go on the trip with his dad, and they had an experience of a life-time. Scott’s faith was increased by all he experienced, and Tim’s mission-compelled heart grew deeper. Their experiences indirectly became my own, and for the second year in a row I was allowed to see through their eyes the unknown joys and opportunities that still eluded my own discovery. God was lifting clouds in my line of vision and showing me the possibilities on the horizon if I was willing to let Him lead me there.

The nest that had been cozy and safe before now felt small and stale. My routine flight patterns were no longer satisfying and the yet uncharted open skies beckoned.

It was a “molting” process of sorts for this timid eagle, the trust that I had placed in God over the past two years, had born a higher, clearer view of my loving Father. One who not only invited His daughter to join Him in heights un-imagined, but Who also gave her a heart like His to fly when He beckoned. 

It was in the higher skies of God’s testing and in the vastness of His glory that I found a freedom unlike any I had known before. It was there that He transformed me, unfurled my wings and sent me out to soar.

And what I saw and experienced was breathtaking…

"As an eagle stirs up its nest, and hovers over its young; as it spreads its wings, takes them up, and bears them aloft on its pinions, the Lord alone guided them."   Deuteronomy 32:11

Dust-covered Angels

In its purest form the definition of angel is simply, “messenger of God.”

A tiny clump of wet cement, a pair of small, sweaty hands and a glimmer of hope. That’s all it took.

The workers had been on site all morning coating the outside walls of the church with cement. They stood high above on make-shift wooden scaffolding, buckets and trowels in hand. As the heavy grey substance was thrown against the wall the excess would splatter and fall on whatever or whoever was below. In this case, it was two young Honduran girls, maybe seven or eight years old at the most, who were happily scooping it up while playing among the remnants on the work site. They sat on the dirty, hard stairs not far from the litter of unused boards and old tools, but the smiles that lit up their tiny faces defied their surroundings.

As Emily and I looked on, they would giggle and squeal while making shapes with the wet matter, proudly showing one another their treasures. They were each darling, no doubt fast friends by the way they played so easily. Every few minutes they would timidly glance over at us, see us watching them and than quickly look away in another fit of giggles. After a few of these exchanges, we smiled and waved and watched as their smiles and eyes grew even bigger. It doesn’t take long before one of the sweethearts stand up, does her best to brush the dust off of her pink cotton dress and begins walking toward us. When she reaches us, there is excitement in her eyes and a gift in her hands.

A tiny clump of wet cement formed in the shape of a heart, one for each of us, offered by a pair of small and sweaty hands. It was a gesture of love robed in a glimmer of hope. That’s all it took to steal my heart.

The heart that stole my own.

Her name is Keili and we soon learn that she is an affectionate, caring bundle of energy who never left our side the rest of the week. She looked for us each morning as we arrived on the site, and with her baby sister in tow who she cared for like a little mother, we would delight in the unbridled joy of their company. Genella, who may have been a little over two years old took a little bit more convincing to warm up to us but once Emily let her wear her sunglasses, she became all giggles and hugs. What amazing lessons these sweet children taught us that week, lessons that only a child could know and understand. But if we slow down long enough to notice, they'll invite us into their world where God is working and waiting for us to see His heart as well.

Keili was always eager to wrap her slender arms around us and chatter non-stop in such animated Spanish that we could only long to comprehend. What we did understand was her message of acceptance, unconditional love and friendship that she showed again and again. We couldn’t help but be touched by the tugging of her hands as she pulled Emily across the room to proudly introduce her to her parents, the contentment in her face while she sat mesmerized on our laps, or the tears in her eyes and strength of her hug when we had to say good-bye.

This is the message that God sends His children, that we are all created to love and to be loved by Him; that what unites and draws us to one another is far greater than the differences of language, culture, age or gender. And that all it takes is a little faith.

 If you’re really fortunate, He might just send a beautiful dust-covered angel to deliver the message.

 Do I believe Keili is a heavenly host in the biblical sense of the word? No, I believe she's someone even more special than that, I believe she is a heavenly child created by God and used to send me a message; an angel that I can see and hear and touch and hold close to my heart. An angel that I hope to see again and will someday be able to tell her how  much she means to me.

I still have the heart Keili made me, I keep it in a little box next to her picture that reminds me of our time together. I left something for Keili as well and I hope it reminds her of how incredibly special and valuable she is - I left a piece of my heart with her.

                                                                            Keili, my angel

                                                                              Keili and Anita,
                        The day we met and she gave me her heart <3

                                      Keili and Genella



                                                                                          Genella
                                                                    Clapping and singing


                                                                                                  

                                                                               Keili with Emily
                                                                   "Love in any language"
                                                           



“This Isn’t What I Signed Up For.”

I woke up with great expectancy and excitement that next day, Emily and I both did. I wasn’t only eager to share this journey with my husband, but we were fortunate to have our 16 year old daughter with us as well. While this would be Tim’s third visit to Honduras, it was my and Emily’s first experience. She had been wanting to go on this trip even longer than I had and now that we were here, she couldn’t wait to hold those beautiful, bright-eyed children we had seen in so many of the pictures. Em adores children and I am convinced that God gave her an extra reservoir of love and understanding in her heart for them; a soft spot that continues to grow the more she is able to interact with His little ones. I knew God had something special in store for her and I was anxious to be by her side and witness what He would do through her and reveal to her as the week went on.

Equally so, I was anxious to see our sister church and finally be able to share in a ministry with my husband. We had both enjoyed participating in many different ministries but as time passed, we began to realize that the areas we were involved in, though worthy they may have been, were not ones that we could enjoy and grow together. Each of us had women and men’s studies, an event or two and an occasional retreat but most everything catered to women. One of the reasons that the mission trips had meant so much to Tim was that they gave men like him an opportunity to really share his heart and hands-on skill in a way that not only served God but that also served others in a real and necessary way. He has always been a practical guy but I had no idea that missions was his passion until after that first trip, and now miraculously God was allowing me to work shoulder to shoulder and heart-deep in that same meaningful ministry. I was so ready and excited.

I am typically not a morning person, and Emily is even less of one; you’re best to let her slowly wake up on her own and when she does choose your words sparingly for the first hour or so. This particular morning though we were both up, showered and having our first cups of coffee long before the bus was scheduled to leave. That sparkle was in her eyes and I could see the anticipation building.

We had been blessed to have a diverse group on this team and I was looking forward to getting to know those who I hadn't met yet. From the moment she first welcomed us at the airport I knew Xiomara would be someone to make this experience a good one. I had heard so many wonderful things about her, not only as the Honduran pastor's wife but also as someone who had become quite close to our teams as she had provided translation for them over the years. She greeted us with a warm smile and big hugs; her generous spirit made me feel comfortable from the very beginning. She was genuinely eager to see everyone and immediately began helping us traverse through every aspect of the coming day, but what I loved most about her was her laughter. To see that she was not only a woman of great faith who fully supported her husband but that she did so with a gracious personality and a sense of humor was such a joy.

She was joined by a few other Hondurans who would be making our experience possible as well: Kelsy, her nephew, Alan, our bus driver and Matias, the local foreman on the job site. All of whom loved to laugh and talk and help us in any way that we needed. Our American team included women and men from teens to seniors, seasoned mission workers to first-timers. We were as diverse in personality as age and occupation but we were all there to bring honor to the same God and to be used in whatever way He asked of us. There was much enthusiasm in our group as we all boarded the bus and headed out to the church.

The countryside that we drove though for the next 20-30 minutes had me completely awe-struck, and though I had yet to understand just how much or why I was so taken by it, I was drinking in everything that my eyes could see. After many scenic miles, we eventually arrived safely in Santa Cruz where we were all eager to find out what kind of an impact a year's time had on the church and to join up with our Honduran church family.

My first impression of the building was, “That is a very bright shade of…. pink, or is it coral, maybe salmon?” My next thought was "What a joyful color and are the people just the same?" I would soon learn the answer but for now, the church was holding all of my attention. The progress on the building itself was quite impressive and as I stepped off the bus it began to sink in, I was finally here!

I was finally able to stand on site of the place that had taken root in Tim’s heart. I walked up the set of cement steps that the mission team had built on his last trip and through the heavy double glass doors that I had only seen in pictures until now. Even though I knew what would welcome me beyond those doors, my first vision of the sanctuary was pretty awesome. It was a large, open and inviting room that offered a sweeping view of the first floor. The few adornments of the room included the tile flooring in a patterned teal green and the ceiling-to-floor burgundy and gold drapes that stretched along the front wall. In contrast, multi-colored plastic chairs, the kind we typically use on porches, are stacked up along the wall ready for use when time for service. Though void of stain-glassed windows, varnished pews or an ornate cross, this open room was simply beautiful because of what it did offer – an uncluttered, unpretentious place to worship the God of salvation and hope. On a paper banner hung above the pulpit, read the words, “Se Libre.” I asked Xiomara what the words meant and was told it reads, “Be Free or We’re Free.” As I stand in a room with black security bars encasing the windows and doors I realize just how profound those simple words are.  In some ways it is a stark reminder of the reason we are here, to show love and bring hope to those who live in an economically challenged country. Yet, those two words tell me that they may have already found something that has eluded many of us who live in a privileged society. Judging by the wide smiles and loud noises that are emanating from the men outside, I’d say our Honduran friends have found something to be joyful about and are anxious to share with us as well.

Matias and the local crew of men were already on site busily constructing their own version of wood-plank scaffolding when we arrived. Offering hearty handshakes and broad smiles of recognition, they seemed as genuinely glad to see us as we were to be there with them. I was able to pick out a few familiar faces from the pictures I had seen and watched as Tim and the other men got reacquainted. Even though an obvious language barrier exists among us all, the eagerness to work together, to learn from one another and make progress unites everyone with excitement. Soon a work mode has fallen over the group, each one taking up tools, sifting sand or mixing cement while others finding their place on the scaffolding above. A steady and comfortable routine falls over the site and the work continues.We watch with wonder and anticipation.

Ten minutes, fifteen and eventually 30 minutes go by as we continue to watch and now wonder where we belong. The longer we stand and watch the more the reality – and the disappointment filters in and throws a damper on our bursting enthusiasm. It appears we haven’t found a place here yet, there’s no need for us as everyone else has taken to their jobs of years’ past. Tim is high above me slinging cement with some of the others, so much for working with him today. Instead, we wait for instruction on where we might go and what we might do. Watching. Waiting. My feeling of uselessness rises. I sense that Emily's frustration is matching my own, she keeps looking around and finally asks, “Where are the kids?”   I don’t have an answer for her, I was wondering the same.

After what seems like forever but is really about a half hour, one of our team members offers Em a shovel so that she can take a turn sifting sand. I am grateful that he noticed and I feel a bit better. Her turn is short-lived though, there is more sand to be sifted than available area to mix the cement so she waits until the buckets are full of the wet cement before they can mix another batch.

The longer I stand there, the more deflated my expectations become; I walk to the back of the church thinking maybe there's something for me there. Or if not, at least no one will see me feeling dejected and unproductive. The other women on the team have a place as well; Xiomara, Linda and Toni are waiting for the local pastor to take them to the children’s coordinator’s home where they will plan the children’s activities for the week. All I can do is wonder how many children there are and pray that Emily will have an opportunity to work with them. I try to look busy taking pictures of anything and everything: the crew on the ground mixing cement, the crew on the scaffolding slinging cement, the collection of houses in the neighborhood, our big, yellow bus parked on the narrow road, back to the busy workers. I take pictures of the inside of the church, every room and floor; then the outside of the building, every possible side and angle. Onto a stray dog that has wandered on-site and the various tools strewn about.  All the while, I worry if anyone is wondering why I’m not doing more or noticing how useless I am at the moment. I wanted to contribute in some meaningful way, to finally share in a worthwhile ministry but I’m at a loss to know how. All I do know is this wasn’t what I expected. “This isn’t what I signed up for,” I think to myself.

  

                                                                              

                                    

  

                                           

                                                                                                                      

                                              

                                        

                                          

I'm not sure if she noticed how lost I felt, but as the women prepare to leave for their planning session, Linda asks if I would like to go along and bring Emily. I kind of want to say, “Not really, I came to help work on the church.” But what argument do I have? Why I thought I came really doesn’t matter at this point, having something to do, does. I hope Emily will benefit from knowing what is going on with the kids’ activities so I call her over and before long we pile into the car. Em is sitting on my lap, her head is bent low by the car’s roof due to her gracious height as we all squeeze into a little car that I think will take us to a house that is “just a little ways up the road past the church.” Several blocks later of dusty, bumpy dirt roads lined with barbed-wire topped fences, a smattering of shrubs and trees, more skinny, wandering dogs and a few glorious smiling children waving, we arrive to a neighborhood of small yards and two-story homes. Up to this point, I was a little nervous to be leaving our team of men behind while the five of us women trekked off on our own. The widening distance between us and our men combined with the safety bars on all of the houses and glass shard gates that we were driving past, didn’t particularly ease my concern. I try to imagine living here and when I do, I realize it’s not much different than driving in a neighborhood in the U.S. and seeing security system signs posted on people’s lawns and homes; you do what you have to to protect your family.

By this time I had grasped the truth that God is with us no matter where in the world we are and that we are always safer in His will than anywhere else we could choose to be. The things that appeared dangerous or primitive in their culture lost some of their grip as I trusted in that truth. Even so, I was quite glad to finally come to a stop so we could unfold ourselves from the confines of the cramped and now sweat-sticky car. When we climb out we are greeted by two curious German shepherds who immediately make me rethink getting back into the car, that is until an adorable curly black-haired, bright-eyed little girl bounces through the gate and rushes up to greet us. Emily and I exchange the first genuinely excited smiles we’ve had since getting on the bus that morning and just stare at this little bundle of joy. Yay, there’s a child within hugging distance!

Nahomy, as we soon learn her name is very glad to see everyone, she gives big hugs to Linda and Toni who she met last year and looks a little timidly at Emily and I. Dripping with childhood cuteness, she leads us up to the large porch where her young mother is waiting with big hugs for everyone. Elda is stunningly beautiful with a smile that lights up her face and eyes that dance. She is talking so lively and animated, it is clear to see that she is a person of great joy. In a flourish that demands attention, Nahomy rushes over to the rainbow-colored hammock stretching from one side of the wide porch to the other where we all turn and see the adorable bundle that is cradled there. Such bright and searching eyes he has as he looks around contentedly. A mass of dark curly hair frames his little cherubic face and we all say a collective, “Awwww,” upon sight of baby Jorge. Yay again, now we have a child and a baby to adore!  

                                                                         

Everyone soon finds a place in Elda’s  modest living room where the women – at least those who can speak Spanish, quickly get to the business of planning the children’s lessons, crafts and program ideas for the week. Emily and I watch and listen, not knowing a word of what is spoken but understanding more than words can say. In her enthusiasm and laughter, it is quite evident that Elda’s love for Jesus is contagious, one she truly wishes to bring to the children. I think how fortunate they are and wonder if they know what a rare gift they’ve been given, the pure praise she offers is hard to find in a land of plenty like America, let alone in a land where its more difficult to find as much to be grateful for. The longer the women plan, the more their excitement grows, and the higher and faster their voices rise in anticipation for what God is going to do among us this week. Laughter and joy float through the room and women who are separated by a culture are easily joined by the love of the same God who brought them together with one another. Suddenly, I don’t miss being at the work site waiting for instructions that may or may not come. I’m not thinking about if I’m going to get a turn to contribute to the building of the church, I’m too busy enjoying the blessings of seeing the church being built and expanded right in front of me.

A cute and curious three year stares up at me and I wish for all the world that I knew a bit of Spanish to communicate to this little one; instead I just smile and wink watching a little grin run across her face. Nahomy moves toward Emily and I can tell that my sensitive daughter is struggling with the same feelings of awe as I am; so much desire for getting to know our new friends but having no idea where to begin. Nahomy shows Em her shoes and there is suddenly a connection, “You like Dora?” Em asks, and she quickly shakes her head yes in agreement, “Dora!”  Such a little thing but it’s a start, a spark that reignites that expectation that we had at the start of the day to see God at work.

We spent the next couple of hours in Elda’s home, trying our best to communicate with everyone, soaking in the sweet spirit that was moving and taking turns loving on the precious baby Jorge. We also had the opportunity to meet Elda’s sister-in-law who is just as warm and lovely, a wonderful seamstress who teaches young girls and women how to sew. Before we had to return to the church for lunch, Elda and Teresa’s children arrive from school. Josmary, Elda’s oldest daughter is about 7 and Teresa’s son Victor couldn’t be much older while Lisbeth must be around 10 or 11. They were all so polite and respectful yet enjoyed joking with each other as kids do. Another reminder that God’s children are everywhere and that we are all more alike than we ever imagined.

Being in her home that she graciously opened to all of us, being served refreshments immediately upon arriving, watching them interact with one another while still offering smiles and questions to include us and just enjoying their sweet personalities all culminated into a picture of such generosity and faith. A faith that I was soon to learn had been tested and tried by our gracious hostess, a woman so excited to share her story with us. I will never forget listening to Elda’s testimony about how God had brought her from the brink of death after Jorge was born, only four short months earlier.  As Elda retold the events surrounding Jorge's birth, Xiomara translated for us. Not only had the doctors given up on her ability to recover but they reaffirmed their dismal prediction by telling her husband to make arrangements and adjust to life without her. She however, never gave up on God’s power and desire to restore her to health and continued to assure her family that she would indeed be healed and return to her home. To the amazement of the doctors and her family, she not only recovered but there was no indication that the healthy and vibrant woman sitting before us had ever been so desperately ill. 

Hearing about someone’s testimony is one thing but hearing it from themselves with such fervency and adoration for God is far more inspiring. I quietly sat in awe of the gift that I had just been given, a gift that I wouldn’t have experienced while sifting sand or mudding a wall. I’m so glad there wasn’t a place for me at the work site that morning because God had better plans in store for me and Emily than I ever expected.

Beautiful Elda

All of the disappointment and sulking of earlier seemed foolish and was quickly forgotten in light of all that God had shown us. There is a place for everyone to contribute to the church; holding a baby is just as important as holding a shovel, sharing a testimony just as worthy as sharing a turn slinging cement, sitting in a foreign sister’s living room just as necessary as standing high above on scaffolding, and connecting heart to heart just as important as working shoulder to shoulder. No, this wasn’t what I signed up for but thank God, this is what He graciously gave to me anyway. I had to wonder, how many of His upgrades had I missed out on because I wasn’t able to see beyond my own expectations. I don’t know what is in store for the remainder of the week but I pray that I fully experience all of His intentional blessings.