Preparing for Baby Overseas during a Pandemic

On New Year’s Day 2020 as most of the world was making resolutions and naively promising to make this the “best year yet!”, my husband and I discovered some extra determination and hope for that promise to be true. We found ourselves in the doorway of our tiny bathroom blinking back tears as we stared at the positive pregnancy test. What a way to start the new year… and new decade! A new little life was forming inside me and I had not been ready for how happy that actually made me. We had questioned whether this was “a good time for our family” and I honestly did not have even a hint of baby fever up to that point but in that moment all those doubts were overshadowed by this great feeling of joy.

Fast forward 5.5 months and I’m in my pajamas in the middle of the day (which day exactly I’m not sure), probably sweating because we live in a tropical climate without air conditioning, wondering what mess of a world I actually had the nerve to bring this little human into. I was already anxious considering just what preparing for my first baby while overseas in a developing country would entail, but then life had to throw a global pandemic into the mix.

As most humans around the world have had to do this year: we’ve had to change some of our plans. I’m not experiencing the kind of pregnancy I expected to have (health-wise I’m great thank God) and I won’t have the kind of birth I had imagined most of my life. In part, this comes with the territory of living as a missionary/expat in a foreign country. Add being married to someone not from your home country and you already have a recipe for a lot of unconventionality and unpredictability. But throw in the global pandemic and at this point I am just surviving in the hazy whirlwind of a complete loss of control. Whereas before, this might have made me anxious, right now I am hands-in-the-air, Jesus-take-the-wheel accepting it.

It reminds me of a favorite verse from Proverbs that says, “We humans keep brainstorming options and plans, but God’s purpose prevails.” (19:21 The Message paraphrase)

Can we all stick that on a mirror?! How real is that verse for this beyond-strange year?

Of course it’s so human of us to shake our fist to the sky and demand, “Why me?! What exactly is your purpose in this?” (side note: a global pandemic is far larger than the inconveniences it causes to our personal plans yet God in His sovereignty has a specific purpose and lesson to teach us in every disruption or tragedy we go through)

My running list of questions for God is as follows:

  • Why can’t my husband and I travel to my country together? (I won’t go into this very personal issue but I’ve written previously on how fickle the U.S. immigration system is)
  • Why are international borders still currently closed – making round trip commercial flights and international shipping almost impossible? No easy way to visit family during my pregnancy and return to my home abroad / husband, no way to fundraise for our organization and our growing family as missionaries as we had planned, no way to shop for gadgets or products, no way to ship anything from online retailers.
  • Why has my entire second trimester been in law-enforced lockdown?
  • And even as I mourn these seemingly insignificant yet real losses I worry about those around me suffering from legitimate crises like food insecurity and violence – Why, God?
Again, the overwhelming answer seems to be: give it over to me. My purpose prevails.
With all of that said, here is how I am preparing for baby boy in the small ways within my ability:
  • I am reading a lot! I’m learning about childbirth and our miraculous bodies and nurture parenting. I’m especially interested in how I can create a safe and secure environment for my child’s emotional and cognitive development.
  • I can’t do a lot of nesting right now (we don’t have room for a nursery where we currently live, and right now we can’t – and possibly won’t – buy much baby furniture/equipment) but I’m dreaming and planning to change and rearrange a few things around our small rental house to better accommodate a new baby. We aspire to a minimalist lifestyle and plan to stick to that even after the little one arrives.
  • I’m talking to him, singing to him, and praying for him – just not specifically by name since we don’t have that picked out yet. I already feel such a bond and deep love for him that I can’t imagine the sensation of finally holding him in my arms!

I am also preparing myself mentally to feel naturally maternal in some ways and completely inadequate in others. I’m preparing for the great responsibility of molding and teaching this little “clean slate” of a human, yet remaining open enough to learn from what this completely “other” being is able to teach me. I cannot predict his temperament nor affinities nor physical appearance. I’m prepared for much of our parenting lessons to be on-the-spot learning. I’ve felt a deeper love for my husband in the last few months and I’ve been reading and reflecting on how to nurture and prioritize our marriage relationship postpartum as well. I don’t want it to be put on the back burner as I’ve heard couples complain of before.

Some parts of cross-cultural parenting, and being far from family, seem daunting since I don’t have much personal reference other than a few other moms I’ve met recently. A couple friends and I have joked about eventually writing a book because I haven’t found a good one on the topic of cross-cultural parenting (parents from different cultures) yet. (send book recs if you know of any!)

With the extra down time due to ten weeks of lockdown in Honduras because of COVID, I’ve been able to journal, reflect, and analyze with my husband on different upbringing and parenting styles. I think this is a challenge enough for homogeneous couples that are just from two separate homes but the subtle differences in expectations and value systems and traditions of two people from different countries/cultures trying to make decisions as a united front for their child might require a little more intentionality. May God grant me patience, humility, and stamina for the challenge ahead.

I might write more in-depth on some thoughts I’ve had about preparing for cross-cultural (and bilingual) parenting so for now I’ll leave the topic at this. Please send thoughts, questions, or resources on any of the above!


For now, I am honestly enjoying this pregnancy stage so much. Carrying this precious baby boy and feeling him move and kick inside my womb has already been the greatest gift. I am praying for the next three months to go smoothly and that this time would serve to form and prepare my husband and me into the kind of parents that the Lord would have us be for this little one.

A Trip to Town

This piece is written about a family we know from a village in West Honduras. This essay describes the reality of an impoverished rural family and a morning that we met with them to take the oldest daughter back to the city where she is temporarily living in a host home and attending school. Names have been altered and some details slightly changed. Although I took some creative liberty in the description of emotions and internal dialogue, the story is based on true observations and firsthand accounts from the girls and their mom.


4:00 am – Iris

Iris awoke on the bare mattress next to her three small daughters. She grabbed in the dark for the tiny flashlight, the only thing that would break the oppressive black that clouded her vision. They had not yet gotten electricity to her one-room adobe brick house, nor had they added a single window because this living arrangement was supposed to be temporary. It was makeshift because soon, better times would come. Of course Iris only halfway believed this because her 36 years of life had taught her otherwise. Most hope is empty and most plans for the future end up being the worst possible disappointment.

This is why it took every ounce of strength in her tired body and weary soul to muster up even the flicker of hope needed to believe that her oldest daughter, Rosy, might have a better chance with these strange people in the city. Could it be that God directed them from so far away to end up visiting this tiny corner of the world? Could they have ulterior motives? The whispers of her neighbors and even family members planted more doubts. But nothing so far had validated those claims and Iris had to do something, anything, to help her daughter. It was worth the risk. And maybe, just maybe, God was real and really good and actually saw her.

These thoughts weighed heavy on her mind and on her frail shoulders as she gently lifted groggy babies to get them ready for the day of travel they had ahead of them. There was no time to grind corn or light the wood-burning stove for a few tortillas. They would have to leave on empty stomachs. This was nothing new, of course. How many mornings had Iris awoken with an empty stomach and lain down again at night with the same hunger pangs?

The bus will be here soon! Iris hurried her two oldest daughters, Rosy, 14 and Maritza, 10, as they packed Rosy’s bag and helped put shoes on the little ones despite their sleepy protests. They were shoes that Rosy had brought back as gifts for her family from the city, luxuries really. When had Iris imagined that one day all five of her daughters would have their own pair of shoes? Of course they didn’t wear them around the dirt-floor house so as to keep them as clean as possible. These shoes were for special occasions, like today. For the first time Iris beamed with a little more pride as she imagined all of them traveling by bus and arriving in the bustling town of Copán Ruinas decently dressed.

It was a good 15 minute walk in the dark on a mountainous road to the entrance of their village where the van they referred to as el busito would arrive for its passengers. Iris didn’t travel much but it was known that every day there was one bus in and one bus out of this little cluster of villages. They waited. And waited. Iris and her oldest daughters took turns carrying Rosy’s suitcase and holding the little ones while they drifted in and out of sleep, occasionally lifting their heads to look around and cry out until they were soothed back to a state of calm. Still they heard no sounds of an old van bouncing up the rocky dirt road; only roosters crowing and a distant mill whirring away grinding someone’s corn for their morning tortillas. The sun was still at least half an hour away from peaking up behind the rolling green hills.

Finally someone down the road called out to Iris and the girls – ¡buenos días! – telling them that if they were waiting on the bus that it wasn’t coming today. They’d have to catch the other bus two villages away that would be arriving any minute. What? Iris jumped up from where she was sitting and nursing the baby, jolting little Anita into wails again. We don’t have enough time! Disoriented from sleep-deprivation, the five girls and their mom took off on foot in the dark again right as a light drizzle descended.

It was a miracle that the six travelers actually made it to the bus stop (a mango tree where the dirt road comes to a split) before the rusty van pulled away. They had had to run, sloshing through the mud and dragging a suitcase, for several miles. Breathless, tired, sweaty, thirsty, hungry, and at this point drenched from rain… Iris and her daughters loaded into the van and she handed the driver some damp and crumpled lempiras, the few dollars it would cost to take them to town, two hours away. It was all the money she had. She wasn’t sure when or if they’d be able to eat this day but she had to get to town.

7:00 am – Rosy

Mom, if they don’t come I’ll just go back to our village with you. Rosy and her family had only been sitting in the town’s central park for seven minutes. She was now torn between two worlds and was secretly hoping to stay with her mom and her sisters. For years Rosy was like a second mother to her younger siblings. When she was away from them she only worried about their well-being. Was she making a mistake by taking this opportunity to study in the city? Would they be okay without her? She couldn’t escape the worries about the future nor the memories from the past that haunted her. She feared the worst. Would her remaining family members face the same fate as the others? Her father and little brother had both spent weeks in bed suffering before malaria took their last breath; her other little brother was mysteriously found in the woods dead. Her mother now struggled to keep food in the house. Was she not abandoning her vulnerable family when they needed her? She questioned whether it was the right thing but one memory rang loudly in her mind: her mother telling her, I don’t want you taken by a man and having babies at 14 like me. If you stay here you will have the same life I had. Go and study.

7:23 am – Maritza

Of all of Iris’s children, Maritza was the most curious and precocious. She had heard a lot of talk from a lot of grown ups in her village, and a lot of it was about her. Problem child, rebellious, nosy, too talkative, and the dreaded diagnosis that was neither scientifically proven nor dared to be questioned… unable to learn at school because she doesn’t pay attention. In Maritza’s village, this was a case-closed prescription for life at home because no overwhelmed and overworked teacher could stand her in their classroom. With fifty boisterous children in one dimly lit cinder-block room, spanning over three grade levels, who could blame them?

All of these “problematic” personality traits were exactly why Maritza would not accept being left at home on this momentous day while the rest of her family traveled to the big town. She could not miss out on the adventure (and the subsequent gossip she could pass on to her friends and neighbors upon her return). At 7:23 in the morning, sitting in the town’s central park, damp and muddy and hungry and nauseated from the jostling bus ride down the mountain, Maritza was not feeling as much excitement as she had the previous day. Her mom and older sister were acting more bossy and irritable than normal and she was starting to wonder if these people were going to show up anyway.

The couple that had made the arrangements to take her older sister to the city were not technically strangers. For the last few years they had been visiting Maritza’s village to help and teach the people there. They recently built an outhouse for her family, the very first toilet they’d ever owned. Because she was a self-appointed village lookout, Maritza was almost always the first to detect the rumble of the Diesel engine and then the sight of the bright red truck coming into view around the curves and through the banana trees that lined her village’s dirt road. She would then enthusiastically take off on foot (often barefoot) to alert neighbors and the school that the Honduran city pastor and his gringa wife were arriving. This would allow plenty of time for anyone who so desired to scramble to the windows of their home or the edge of the road to wave or simply stare in curiosity at the outsiders.

Today, although in a much different space and a greater state of delirium, Maritza was on the lookout again. From the park bench she had patiently watched countless vehicles and motorcycles and the typical red and white mototaxis boasting their rambunctious ranchera music zoom through the town square, all of their drivers and passengers important and focused on their destination. All at once she spotted the red truck coming up the cobblestone street and she jumped up from the bench where she was sitting with her family. Maritza recognized the pastor and the gringa’s familiar goofy grins through the truck windows and she took notice that they were in contrast to Rosy’s expression of consternation. It was all so exciting but deep down, she too, would have been happy if her sister ended up going back home with them to their village.

Pleasantries and greetings were exchanged, including those strange hugs that the gringa always gave. It had taken Maritza a while to get used to an affectionate pat or embrace since no one typically exchanged physical touch in such a way in her village, not even parents with children. Slowly, after several repeated visits from the red truck couple, she began to interpret an extended arm as something other than a threat. Today Maritza willingly wrapped her arms around the gringa’s waist and was relieved to hear her say, busquemos desayuno. Let’s get breakfast!

On just a couple other occasions in her life Maritza had visited the town of Copán Ruinas. To her, this town was another world. It was a world of commerce and trade and government work and where her mom has to go after having a baby so that she can register the child and bring home their birth certificate. Maritza was not too young to recognize that her family didn’t fit in here. The busy people walking up and down the streets, standing in line at the bank, coming and going from the stores all had an air of confidence and belonging that she knew she didn’t quite possess but hoped to imitate. As the group approached the door of one of those establishments, Maritza felt a jolt of exhilaration.

7:45 am

The pastor and the gringa had to prod and encourage Iris to step inside with her girls. Maritza observed the natural way the red truck couple glided into this place, this restaurant, as if it were their own home. Did they have permission to walk in like that? If they did, surely Maritza and her family did not. Who were they to just open a stranger’s door and walk through it? Maritza received no clues from her mother, verbal or nonverbal, as to whether it was really appropriate to enter this strange place but curiosity got the better of her and she stepped through the door.

She froze. All within the same second a blast of cold air hit her skin; she inhaled a strong aroma like she had never experienced before of high quality coffee and pastries and a variety of foods; her ears caught the strange sounds of machines and music that seemed to come out of the walls; and her vision was bombarded by two big screen TVs in opposite corners and the most pristine and orderly floors, tables, counters, and workers all dressed in matching uniforms. It was dizzying. Maritza’s senses were instantly overwhelmed and her fight or flight response kicked in. She whimpered and curled up in a corner. It took the couple another several minutes to calm her and coax her over to the table where they would eat and help get everyone seated. Iris was still uncomfortably standing in the doorway with baby Anita on her hip, possibly experiencing a milder version of what her second daughter had just faced. The odd situation was compounded by the uniformed servers staring on suspiciously at Iris and whispering among themselves. They had been trained to swiftly and inconspicuously usher beggars out the side door in order to maintain the utmost comfort of their customers. And this frail woman with the downcast face certainly fit the profile of a town beggar.

Becoming aware of the increasing tension, the couple stood and motioned with big gestures for Iris and her baby to join them at the table, hoping to reassure the nervous mom as well as the onlooking servers. Now it was time to choose something from the menu.

Knowing how overwhelming the experience was becoming just within the first few minutes, the pastor suggested setting aside the menus and ordering a simple breakfast of traditional baleadas (flour tortilla with beans, cheese, and cream) and a cup of coffee for everyone. Maritza realized how famished she was but was also perplexed by where the food would come from. She certainly smelled food but saw no fire or stove or pots and pans anywhere. The large table where the guests were seated had little boxes in the center with paper napkins and little paper packets of something. Were these free to take?

Her question was answered when one of the uniformed workers arrived with steaming mugs of black coffee for everyone. The gringa showed Maritza which of the little paper packets had sugar in them and she tore them open and emptied their contents into the beverage. Maritza crumpled the empty paper packets and let them fall to the floor beside her chair just like she would normally dispose of any trash in her village. She noticed the gringa watching her and heard her giggle as she leaned down to pick up the paper. Here we leave all the trash on top of the table and these workers will throw it away in a trash can when we leave. Oh.

As they waited on the food Maritza was focused on the TVs. She’d never seen a screen so big with images so lifelike! There was a glass display with cakes that caught her attention as well. How did this place have so much food? The gringa showed her how to sit correctly so she could reach what she needed at the table. When the food arrived Maritza was again intrigued by the heavy silver forks and knives that were wrapped in more paper napkins. For all of these things Maritza wondered, why? The couple closed their eyes and talked to God and thanked Him for the food before eating. Is that where these plates came from?

Maritza watched with intense curiosity as the workers went back and forth bringing whatever the couple requested out to the table. Her mother never dared to speak to the workers directly. She barely looked them in the eye. Maritza observed the servers disappearing around a corner on the other side of the cake display. What was back there? She couldn’t finish her breakfast – it was so much – but to her relief the gringa asked a worker for something to pack the leftover food in and the girl brought a piece of foil to the table. Maritza figured that she wasn’t allowed to carry the ceramic plate out to the street so she had thought about using one of the paper napkins from the box to wrap her food. As everyone began to stand up the precocious child grabbed her plate and utensils and marched herself right past the cake display following the lead of those in uniform. She was cleaning up after herself as she assumed she should! The workers smiled and took the plate from her before she ended up too far into the restricted kitchen area.

She stopped at the cake display to admire in awe. She wasn’t hungry anymore but just what were they going to do with all that cake? Maritza noticed that Rosy had just come out of a door that led to a little room. Do you need to go to the bathroom? The gringa suggested that Rosy join her sister in the restroom to help with anything she might not understand about indoor plumbing. It was all impressive to Maritza, a toilet that flushes, paper and soap in boxes, but the most fun was the giant mirror where she shied away from looking at the weirdly clear image of her own face for too long. The mirror was too exciting to keep to herself so when she finished and opened the door she motioned for the gringa to step inside so they could both see their reflection in the same frame and giggle together.

8:55 am

It was time to leave and with teary eyes and full bellies the sisters softly told each other goodbye. The gringa encouraged hugs although they weren’t entirely natural-feeling among the girls and their mom. Rosy swallowed a pill that the couple had bought her for carsickness, since past experience proved road trips to be rough on her stomach. She climbed in the back seat of the red truck leaving her family standing on the corner and watched their forms get smaller and smaller until they faded from her view. Then with determination she set her sight firmly on the road ahead and slowly yielded to the hum of the engine and drowsiness of the anti-nausea medicine. Thinking of the world she was leaving behind and the world that lay ahead, she drifted into a peaceful sleep.

2009 -> 2019 Decade in Review

What a significant decade in my life! So many ups and downs and interesting experiences. So much learning and growing! So many dreams accomplished and so much evidence of God’s providence and faithfulness. How can I not be thankful?

I still consider 2009 to be one of the most significant years of my life. I would say it was the peak of my existence but that’s a little dramatic and also kind of depressing for the rest of my years here on earth… *ahem, nervous laughter* so, anyway I thought I’d share the highlights from that year and then the highlights from the rest of the decade. Maybe I’ll throw in some lowlights too just to be real…

2009

The year I turned 20! I finished my sophomore year at Lee University and started my junior year in the fall. I had gotten involved in a community tutoring and mentorship ministry in an immigrant neighborhood near my college campus that I would end up leading the following year. The experiences and friendships formed through this ministry were nothing short of life-changing for me. And my Spanish advanced exponentially this year!

The summer of 2009 was packed for me. I don’t remember the specific order but it involved traveling as a volunteer to Honduras, Mexico, and DISNEY WORLD. Yes, I went to Disney World on a paid trip as a volunteer Spanish interpreter with a Mexican family for a type of make-a-wish dream vacation. Occasionally I think about that opportunity and wonder WHAT IS MY LIFE. (that trip was not without its mishaps and fails – which make for hilarious stories – but it was overall truly MAGICAL)

After having traveled for 5 years with teams, my cousin and I were able to travel to Honduras solo for the first time as independent volunteers. I think the trip was a total of about 3 weeks, which was cut short because of Honduras’ infamous MILITARY COUP that took place smack dab in the middle of our stay. Of course, at 20-years-old I was more concerned about my missions adventure being thwarted than the actual political ramifications that it meant for the country. #typical

Thank God that I have grown as an individual and as a missionary since that trip. I was naïve in so many ways.

We were also in Honduras when Michael Jackson died but that had no implication on my life. I just remembered that being big in the news.

The Disney World experience was enriching in so many ways. I got to see the incredible collaboration of Children’s Hospital of Alabama and the organization, Magic Moments, in granting the wish of a precious little patient whose cancer was in remission. The organization, Give Kids the World, in Kissimee, FL was super impressive as they provided housing, food, and activities to all their guests – families of children with terminal illnesses. One activity in their “village” allowed the sick children to write their name on a gold star and choose where they wanted to hang the star along the roof of “Castle of Miracles” along with thousands of other stars from kids in similar situations. We got park hopper entrances to all Disney parks and to Universal Studios, fast passes to every ride, park meals and souvenirs covered, and the patient’s Give Kids the World button she wore on her shirt signaled all characters in autograph signing lines to stop the line and direct their attention to her. I had never seen anything like it.

The biggest mishap of the trip was that I was the only licensed driver of the group (and the only English speaker) and the family’s vehicle broke down somewhere in south Georgia on our way to Orlando and it was a Sunday and we couldn’t find any mechanic shops open. This was also before smartphones so I guess we were just calling random people asking for help. (we actually waved on a police officer who stopped to ask if we were ok) We finally got in touch with a friend of a friend, some latino mechanic who came and helped us out. That day I learned the Spanish word for spark plugs. And I learned a few other things about my own privilege.

For the first part of this year I was working as an office assistant and board operator at Christian radio station J103 in Chattanooga.

2010

I visited Costa Rica for the first time with a group from college this summer. I tried gallo pinto (Costa Rican rice and beans) and my life hasn’t been the same since.

I think this was the year that I started working in retail – JCPenny!

2011

This was the year I graduated from my incredible alma mater, Lee U, with a bachelor’s of arts in Telecommunications, minors in Spanish, Latin American Studies, and Religion. I was interning (and eventually worked) at Church of God World Missions editing video footage for missionaries around the world. I loved it! I eventually had to leave Cleveland, TN and was super sad.

My highest highlight of the year was visiting Puerto Rico for the first time. ¡Me enamoré con la Isla del Encanto! And I halfway learned to dance Bomba. Second highlight was getting my first DSLR camera (Canon T2i).

In the fall of this year I moved to Panama City, Panamá for three months as a volunteer with a Honduran missionary family.

This was the year I started getting more involved in fighting for comprehensive immigration reform, and specifically against a state-level anti-immigrant bill that was promoting self-deportation of undocumented immigrants. I wrote to my representatives and traveled to the state capital by bus with a group of activists to rally against it.

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2012

I went back to work with the World Missions video editing team for the first part of this year then I was invited to move to Honduras in August on an English teaching contract. I was nervous about teaching and living there for A YEAR but I jumped at the chance. One fateful month after starting my teaching job in San Pedro Sula, Honduras I met Natán Martínez at church. My first impression of him was him standing up in front of the congregation praying a passionate missions prayer for some chosen country of the month… it I weren’t so skeptical of these kind of things I would say it was love at first sight… or love at first prayer… idk. Basically a few weeks after that we were officially dating.

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This was also one of the last years that I was into death-defying stunts like hiking through a roaring waterfall with an amateur guide. (NEVER AGAIN) Yes, those tiny people in the photo are my friends and me.

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This year I traveled to Belize for the first time.

2013

I finished my teaching contract in June and made plans to move back to the states. Natán was preparing to start seminary in Guatemala and we were already talking about getting married. We both knew we wanted to be in ministry in Honduras but didn’t know what that would look like. I still had about $20,000+ of student loans to pay off and he had 3 years of seminary to get through. We pledged to do long distance until we met our goals. AND WE DID. 2013 was the start of 3.5 years of LONG DISTANCE dating (kind of already engaged) in two separate countries.

For the last half of 2013 I started the job search. My first contract job was teaching English to adults through a literacy program grant for Hoover City Schools at an elementary school. I eventually started teaching Spanish with a homeschool co-op, and doing Spanish interpreting in medical facilities and Tarrant City School System. I loved each of these jobs. At one point I was working 5 contract jobs at once!

I also started using my photography/videography as a side hustle, doing photo sessions and videoing events.

2016

Natán and I would see each other about twice a year when he’d go home to Honduras for break and I’d travel to see him or travel with a missions group. Finally, in spring of 2016 I traveled to visit him in Guatemala and then again in November to see him graduate. This was when we took engagement photos to announce our wedding date for the following March.

This was the year I paid off the last of my student loans! FREEDOM. And Natán graduated from seminary. I had started raising monthly missions support and that has sustained us in our ministry. We accomplished what we set out to do before getting married and starting our lives as full-time missionaries.

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2017

WEDDING TIME! Natán and I (finally) got married in an intimate ceremony on the Caribbean island of Roatan on March 27, 2017, four days before my 28th birthday. IT WAS A DREAM. It was at my dream location, I wore my dream dress, DSW clearance high heels, my grandmother did my hair AND made our delicious strawberry wedding cake. (don’t tell anyone she iced the cake in our hotel bathroom) We found a great local photographer and were surrounded by closest friends and family. Those who couldn’t be present watched via Skype.

2018

In February of this year I lost my paternal grandmother and it was really hard but I thank God that I happened to be home on a scheduled visit during her last days and I was able to say goodbye while she was lucid.

We got a slow start this year as we founded our poverty alleviation nonprofit organization and we kept hitting bumps in the road. The last few months of 2018 were pretty stressful in our personal lives but we made it through. I was glad to see 2018 go.

Four highlights were: loving married life, visiting El Salvador for the first time, having my mom and grandparents visit us in Honduras, and photographing the birth of my nephew, Brooks!

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2019

In 2019 we officially got 501c3 status as an organization! We hit a few important goals and had our first official benefit event for our org in Alabama. I also turned 30 this year and it felt fabulous.


This last decade brought many pleasant surprises but also a couple painful disappointments. I learned some ugly truths about the world but I think I grew and gained wisdom from it. I am not as carefree and naïve as I was at twenty but that would be kind of weird if I was.

I might not be exactly where I’d like to be for 2020 but as I reflect over the last ten years I think I can say it was a freakin’ good decade. I really don’t have any regrets. Here’s to the next!

Opposite Worlds and Divine Blending

I am part of an online community of missionaries and expats around the world. I’m super thankful for this space that helps me find people in similar situations like myself and it makes me feel less alone. One of these groups has weekly discussion themes and encourages the expat women to post and blog according to it. This week the theme is opposites.

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Literally me in Honduras fanning away my sweat as I imagine the opposite of whatever current scenario happening if I were in the USA

After reading some of the posts, I have come to reflect on some seemingly opposites in my own life. In the last year I’ve become a little obsessive with comparing my life here in Honduras to my life back home in the states. I don’t know if this is a stage of culture shock and I don’t know what exactly I’m trying to justify or reconcile in my own mind but I annoy my own self with frequent comments that I make like, “back in my country…” reminiscent of Phoebe from The Magic School Bus.

So, inspired by a guest blogger on the group’s blog, I thought I would just make a little list of things contrasting my life now to what it might be if I were living in the U.S.: (as interesting as my daily life in Honduras might seem to some in the states, my daily life in the states seems pretty interesting to many in Honduras – for example, it is quite shocking to people in the majority world that we in the states let our central heating and air units run almost nonstop year-round)

  • in the U.S. I would use a dryer for my clothes; in Honduras I use a clothesline (this is just one reason why clothes-washing is a more complicated and involved task from start to finish – there’s no throwing in a couple jeans to wash last minute because you need them the next day.)

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but… As God as my witness, I will have a dryer again!

  • in the U.S. I would wear a lot of makeup and fix my hair more; here I wear minimal makeup and opt for braids or buns most days
  • in the U.S. I would probably use a dishwasher (depending where I was living); here I hand wash dishes multiple times a day and my hands and nails suffer from it
  • in the U.S. I would ashamedly eat lotssss of microwavable foods; here I cook more (thus dirtying up more dishes) or eat dirt cheap street food
  • in the U.S. I would live in a completely climate controlled atmosphere at a comfortable 68º pretty much 24/7; here we use only fans with open windows and can’t control the temperatures, smells, or noises that bombard our senses
  • in the U.S. pest control is a breeze; here it is almost a daily battle with ants, mosquitoes, flies, roaches, spiders, and geckos (and once, an iguana in our bathroom)
  • in the U.S. I would keep up with my favorite T.V. series like This Is Us and Law and Order: SVU; here we have no T.V. (but thank God for wifi & Netflix! even with fewer options than in the states)
  • in the U.S. my water pressure would be great and I’d have constant hot water in any faucet!; here we use an external heated shower head that is only hot when the pressure is really low (not to mention we can’t drink from the faucets)
  • in the U.S. I would have SO. MUCH. closet and drawer space; here my husband and I share a single zip-up mobile “closet” and use foldable storage bins
  • in the U.S. I would drive solo anywhere at literally any time of the day or night on great road conditions; here the roads are hazardous, traffic is typically heavy, other drivers are unpredictable, my husband and I share a vehicle and it is stick shift and I’m not comfortable driving it just yet… so I don’t drive :/ (but I will! It’s a goal of mine)
  • in the U.S. I would speak mostly in my first language and communication wouldn’t require much mental energy; here I will go days on end without having a single conversation in English and sometimes it leaves me feeling exhausted
  • in the U.S. I would feel comfortable in public (just the right amount of being acknowledged + being ignored); here I’m stared at everywhere
  • in the U.S. I can suggest to group of friends that we go out for dinner and everyone understands they will pay their own bill; here “he who invites pays” so group outings are few and far between 😉

etc., etc… The above list is specific of my particular situation in either of my “two worlds.” It’s not to say that it would be representative of all living in the states nor all living in Honduras. This is also a very superficial list and doesn’t touch on the subject of violence and fear that is one of the biggest factors of any psychological and emotional changes that I might have experienced in the last couple of years – changes that I most definitely would not have undergone had I stayed in the states. These are my opposites. I live every day trying to figure out how I can stay active in both worlds… and if I should. Some days, I wonder if I’m holding on too much to my comfort zone and other days I wonder if I’m losing my true self in the midst of assimilating into a new culture. Some days I feel brave and accomplished and other days I beat myself up for wallowing in self-pity. (because, I definitely have days when I just want ac and crown moulding and chick-fil-a and a hot bath and to feel comfortably normal)

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What if I could settle for living with these two opposing sides – appreciating the parts of me that have “Honduran-ized” while not feeling guilty for still wanting little American pleasures while living abroad? What if it was God’s plan all along that my upbringing, affinities, calling, and all the new experiences blended together to form a completely unique me?

I visualize it like I’m right in the middle of a Venn diagram where it’s overlapping and that’s where the really interesting stuff happens. I shouldn’t feel forced to sort through things placing them neatly on one side or the other. And if something is temporarily out of reach on a certain side I don’t have to feel like a martyr because it isn’t part of my life at that particular moment. I know I would never be fully content completely on one side or the other anyway.

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nothing to do with the actual content of this post – I just appreciate the Venn diagram humor

I have a never-satisfied longing for my fam back home to truly understand my daily life in Central America. I have to accept that they are not going to understand. I have a never-satisfied longing for my husband to understand my upbringing that is quite the opposite of how he was raised. I have to accept that he won’t truly understand my emotionally-charged nostalgia surrounding the holidays and family beach trips. He’ll one day get to experience that with us stateside but it won’t compare to the memories I have as a child. And I have to accept that our kids will most definitely have a very different experience than either one of us had growing up. They too will have to learn to live with a divine blending of cultures and that will bring its own challenges and rewards.

So, here’s to moving forward and being fully present in the middle of the diagram! Opposite worlds can blend and our lives are enriched because of it.

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How Do I Become Fluent? A Language Learner’s Guide

I occasionally get messages from students taking a foreign language (specifically Spanish) asking how to become fluent. There is no one-track, follow-these-3-steps guarantee to gaining fluency but with a few years of study and practice it’s doable so I thought I’d share some tips that helped me on my journey to fluency in Spanish. (and ones I’m using currently, although not-so-consistently, to learn Arabic)

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Language learning is a lifelong journey. We never stop expanding our vocabulary in any language, whether it’s our native tongue or not.


Three messages I’ve gotten recently:

 

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The best learning “tactic” you can have is the desire to learn. My personal motivation was traveling to Honduras as a teen and realizing the need to be able to communicate with the people there. If you want more convincing check out the infographic below about the benefits of a bilingual brain.

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Either way, find your why and your language journey will be so much more meaningful and will be what gets you through the lulls and moments when you feel overwhelmed.

That brings me to my next point… you will feel overwhelmed and like you want to give up and like you’re in over your head and oh-my-gosh-I’ll-never-get-the-hang-of-this-language, why-does-everyone-understand-except-me! I can’t tell you the times I walked into my college Spanish classes with sweaty palms and an abnormally high heart rate. It can be nerve wracking and I think a lot of people give up right around that time. But that is exactly where you have to push on through.

Learning a language will only happen for those who don’t mind looking foolish. If you are self-conscious about how silly you might sound then chances are it will be much nervousmore of a struggle. Because here’s some news: YOU WILL SOUND RIDICULOUS. You will. There is no getting around the fact that as a language learner (LL) you are going to mispronounce words and use the incorrect verb tense and just flat out say things you didn’t mean to say like one time when I told someone I had “a horse in my bathroom.”

*Things to keep in mind

  • Receptive language (comprehension) is typically developed before expressive language. I hear so many LL’s say, “I understand most of what they say! I just can’t answer back!” That’s normal.
  • It’s very unlikely that you will go from zero to fluent in just a year’s time. Allow yourself plenty of time to learn the language and don’t beat yourself up about what feels like slow progress. It’s hard to put a time limit on language proficiency because there are so many factors and we all learn differently.
  • You’ll probably have to invest financially. To learn a language you have to be intentional with your time and money. (but I hope through this blog post to give you some money- and time-saving tips you can use on your way to fluency)
  • There are four parts to learning a language: hearing, speaking, reading, writing. Make sure you are practicing all four!

 

Once you’ve discovered your motivation and accepted the fact that there will be moments when you will feel like giving up and that you will occasionally sound dumb, let’s talk about some practical ways to start and/or supplement your language studies.

  1. Take a class. I’ve known people who have become fluent just by immersion (see below) but if you live in a country where the target language is not prevalent (U.S.) you need to start here with some kind of formal class with an instructor, preferably one you can interact with, not an online class.
  2. Immersion. Whereas the class will give you the foundation for grammar, vocabulary, basics of pronunciation; immersion is the best and fastest way to become conversational and then fluent. It is suggested to have some formal training in the language before this step. Immersion is best carried out by traveling to the country or culture where your target language is spoken in every day life. This works best if you surround yourself with individuals who do not speak your first language. (and/or marry one of them like I did!)
  3. Practice outside of class time. IF you have the desire to learn you will have the desire to practice. (which is how I knew I desired speaking Spanish more than I desired playing the piano when I was younger) 😉 And if you have a busy schedule like I imagine you do, there are ways to multi-task while practicing a language.
    • I used to listen to Coffee Break Spanish podcasts while cleaning and doing laundry. (recently I’ve checked out Pimsleur language program CDs from my local library as I’m trying to learn Arabic and I love their teaching method. I’ll listen to them in the car.)
    • In high school I found a local Spanish language newspaper that I would pick up occasionally to try to read. I’d mark words I recognized and try to figure out the gist of the story. Most local libraries also have children’s books in Spanish.
    • Watching cartoons (for me, it was old Disney movies) that you know the characters and storyline will help give you confidence in the language and you won’t feel as lost as you hear the foreign words. It’s exciting the first time you start recognizing words or phrases and can understand their context in the story.
    • Listen to music. Many popular songs in English are translated to Spanish but just remember that most are not translated word for word. A couple artists I would listen to were Kari Jobe and Hillsong in Spanish. Having music or the TV on in the background as you do other things is helpful even if you aren’t directly paying attention. It is training your ear to the sounds of the language whether you are conscious of it or not and is an easy way to learn popular phrases.
    • Make friends with speakers of your target language! I would keep in touch with friends in Honduras but I also got involved in a tutoring ministry during college based in a neighborhood of majority Mexican and Guatemalan families. Building relationships with these families face to face made me feel comfortable trying to speak their language and motivated me even more.
  4. Apps on your phone are great tools to aid in language learning. Google translate IMG_0515can be used in various helpful ways, (not in translating large texts) for example I use it to “test” my pronunciation in Arabic by using the mic and speaking a phrase I’ve learned and then seeing if it understands me. DuoLingo is fun because it sets up language lessons as a game that covers the four areas: hearing, speaking, reading, writing. It keeps up with your level, lets you set personalized goals, and sends you reminders to practice. This app now offers courses for over 60 languages! (which is crazy distracting for someone like myself who probably has Language Learning ADD) I like the Spanish Dictionary app which works as a simple English-Spanish dictionary but also has vocabulary trivia, important phrases listed by category, and a Word of the Day feature. Mango is another good program offered by some local libraries. A good supplemental website for Spanish (that still doesn’t have an app to my knowledge) is StudySpanish.com – there are good grammar explanations, verb drills, quizzes, audio of speakers from different Spanish speaking countries to hear the difference in accents.

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Happy language learning! It is quite an adventure. ❤

What advice do you have for language learners?

The Worlds of Excess and Lack

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Take about a minute to study the illustration above. Move your eyes back and forth between the child with the iPad and the child eating off the ground. What do you feel?

This hit me like a punch in the stomach.

Shocking.

True.

How can I do more?

It says what I haven’t been able to find the words to say for a while now. Here in Central America I live in the tension that you feel when you look at this image. It’s an uncomfortable place, I admit.

I’m much more comfortable in my middle class home in Alabama, watching House Hunters on TV, surrounded by all my iThings and justifying the couple hundred dollars of recent purchases I just made on frivolous stuff for myself. I mean, I’m not rich and wasteful like those people, right?

We play the comparison game. The truth is that in the U.S. I feel borderline poor and almost convinced that I deserve more: more convenience and comfort, better service, newer gadgets, faster technology, the latest styles. But who is making me feel this lack in my life? Advertising companies? The family down the street? That friend from high school who flaunts her lavish lifestyle on Instagram? Maybe it’s time to cut those things out. I’ve recently started a discipline online of unfollowing people/media/companies that feed that insecurity in me, that insatiable hunger that tells me I need and deserve more more more. They. Are. Lies. (For parents, it might be those that convince you that you should take out a 2nd mortgage just to get your kid all those gifts for Christmas.)

As an adult (more specifically, an adult living as a foreigner in a developing country) I am fully #woke to the fact that in my family we were lavishly spoiled as children during Christmas. (which I loved as a kid, don’t get me wrong) But I think it fed that little materialism monster in me and now it’s my job to try to starve him.

It’s the reason I have a hard time answering when someone cheerfully asks, “Do you love living in Honduras?” Well, part of the time, yes, but not because I’m thoroughly enjoying myself or super comfy or even “living the adventure of a lifetime.” My lifestyle here is very different and a lot of days are hard. It helps keep me grounded and more aware of the majority world’s reality and I value that far more. In the states I can easily and comfortably forget the suffering of those outside my door – the ignorance is bliss kind of thing. Even when I go back home and spend an extended length of time I start to forget. We humans have such short attention spans.

Here, the suffering is unavoidable.

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Now that I have seen I am responsible. – Brooke Fraser


If you’re still wondering if you might be considered rich or not by global standards, Screen Shot 2017-11-27 at 1.20.26 PMcheck out the Global Rich List and see how you compare. I can bet you’re at least in the top 3% richest in the world. 😉

  • sidebar: It certainly isn’t a USA vs. majority world problem either. Economic inequality is sometimes the most extreme within the borders of one single country. The gap between rich and poor in Honduras is painfully obvious.

I just finished reading the book 7 by Jen Hatmaker – I’m behind the times, I know. The tagline is “an experimental mutiny against excess.” Yes. It encouraged me (Again. I will forever and ever need these reminders) that there is value in living more simply and that most of the things we think we need aren’t really necessities but, in fact, excess. The premise of the book is to free ourselves of the bondage of materialism while at the same time opening our eyes to the needs of others around the world. liberation + solidarity.40e6ebd24f7c0e79951a2463ca2290e6--truth-quotes-a-quotes

A good friend of mine used to say, “The most important things in life aren’t things.” Amen.

A few years ago I blogged about something similar after reading Jeff Shinabarger’s book More or Less.

I wrote, “the real kicker is that the kind of life I live here (Honduras), which at first I considered sacrificial, is still seen by many around me as living in abundance. That blows my mind.” The car I felt embarrassed to drive during college now looks like a huge blessing when I consider that most families here do well to buy one used shared vehicle. And mine was one of FIVE vehicles that my immediate family owned – practically unheard of here in Honduras.

I’m caught between these two worlds – but I want so badly that they understand each other.” (Full blog post here.)

My great frustration in life is feeling misunderstood. (My Myers-Briggs [INFP] and Enneagram [4 w 5] personality type results confirm this) So, as if to complicate things even more I decided to move to and marry into a new country and culture and language. Communicating effectively and achieving “being understood” is even more challenging yet at the same time more rewarding when it happens.

And it’s not just on the Honduras end. Sometimes it’s hard for family and friends back home to relate to my daily life (no fault of their own) or to understand that the values, norms, and status quo in Honduran society are different. It gets tricky trying to balance two different value systems. Small talk becomes even more painful when you have so much heaviness weighing on you. Very few in the states truly understand the plight of an average individual trying to make ends meet in a developing country like Honduras and even fewer truly grasp the reality that: The poorest 40 percent of the world’s population accounts for 5 percent of global income and the richest 20 percent accounts for three-quarters of world income. The inequality is staggering and it’s an inequality that has actual faces and names here.

Did you know? The money spent on diet plans in the U.S. alone could feed all starving children around the globe? The 60 billion dollars spent on Black Friday in the U.S. could solve the food crisis TWICE and the water crisis 6 TIMES?

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The wonderful thing is that statistically, Americans are more likely than any other country to voluntarily give to help the poor in other countries. Ironically, those with lower incomes actually give a higher percentage. We could improve on the fact that there is still 33% in our country who do not donate to charity at all.

On my previous short-term trips I would come home to the U.S. to my big comfortable bed and just cry because I didn’t know what to do with what I had just experienced. I knew something was terribly wrong with how I saw the majority of Americans living – their skewed priorities, their indifference to “outsiders.” Unfortunately after a few weeks, those strong feelings of unrest and conviction would start to wane. The awareness that 62% of the population of Honduras live below the poverty line would fade to the background of my consciousness because it was no longer right in front of my face. I would continue with my life and get caught up in the same trivial first world problems. I now consciously choose to keep it in the forefront of my mind no matter how uncomfortable it makes me.

I also choose to keep speaking up about it. I’ll be like that annoying dripping in the kitchen sink that just won’t. shut. up.

You’re welcome.

“Don’t store up treasures here on earth, where moths eat them and rust destroys them, and where thieves break in and steal.” Matt. 6:19

What are some practical ways you liberate yourself and your family from the bondage of materialism and/or stand in solidarity with those suffering in and outside our borders?

*Two other life changing books on my shelf regarding this topic are Rich Christians in an Age of Hunger by Ron Sider and The Hole in Our Gospel by Richard Stearns.*

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Newlyweds on the Mission Field

It’s time to give you the lowdown on what we’ve been up to these last few months! And give you an idea of our 2018 plans.

Natán and I are living in the northwest region of Honduras and have been settling in quite nicely to newlywed life. I really can’t say enough just how thankful I am to have married someone so selfless and caring. Not only does he care for me well but he has such a heart for the marginalized and oppressed. I couldn’t ask for a better partner as we navigate this new phase of life as esposos, missionaries, directors of a nonprofit, and – for me – an expatriate in a new land and culture. It takes a lot of adapting and compromise.

We certainly couldn’t do what we do without the backing of an incredible support and prayer team back home. Even though we haven’t personally reached 100% of our monthly support goal, the Lord doesn’t cease to amaze us and continually proves Himself as our Provider.

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In our work we see heart-breaking scenarios and subpar living circumstances. 62% of the population of Honduras live below the national poverty line, or in other words, under $2.50 a day. Most of these people live in rural settings and work in agriculture. Limited education, improper nutrition, lack of clean drinking water, inadequate hygiene practices, and lack of employment opportunities or unpredictable crop yield all contribute to cycles of poverty that continue for generations. Our goal is to help families break these cycles through holistic community development programs.

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According to the CIA World Fact Book

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Lenca Indian girl in the kitchen of her home – Intibucá

We’ve identified two needy villages to begin with in the west and southwest region of the country. We’ve started with some exploratory trips and small-scale initiatives but our goal is to implement projects in 2018 that will result in self-sustainability during our 3 year involvement. (The first villages will be our pilot programs and each year our goal is to initiate new holistic programs in new needy villages.)

I posted the following on my Facebook page this past July:

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Elderly lady in the “living room” of her home – Copán, Honduras

While we don’t want to create dependency among our villager friends or base our friendship on what we give and what they receive, we recognize that certain groups of people are especially vulnerable with little chance of reaching self-sustainability such as the abandoned elderly and disabled. The lady pictured above is one example of that and is a recipient of food “handouts” whenever we visit her village.

We have a couple friends who are on board with the program in Copán and give financially specifically to fund our efforts there. We are planning a few end-of-year fundraisers to kick the program off so stay tuned! You can find giving info here.

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A recent visit to our village in Copán teaching appropriate hygiene practices and disease prevention

To get a better idea of how we distinguish relief work (which is not our focus) from development work, check out this chart developed by Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert.

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Dear Younger Me: First Mission Trip

This is a letter to my almost 15-year-old self on that very first exhilarating mission trip to Honduras in February 2004. Note: mission trip (STM) refers to evangelical Christian humanitarian work typically in another country. My teenage self would probably roll her eyes at this letter, but… Little Idealist, these are lessons you will eventually learn.

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In a medical clinic during one of my first trips. El Jardín, Copán, HN.

Dear Younger Me,

Finally! You’ve been waiting and praying about the chance to go on a mission trip and it’s finally here. So much expectation and anticipation (and let’s face it… drama, because well, you’re 14.) It really will prove to be more life-changing than you can even understand in this phase of life. I know you have done so much preparation and feel like everything in life has been leading up to this big, glorious moment. It will actually prove to be just one of many gloriously small moments that will ultimately string together in a beautiful way that only God can orchestrate. Just wait.

Journal this experience. I know you do this anyway because you’ve always been the weirdo kid who documents EVERY. THING. Good for you. One day, you’ll be 27 and a more experienced, slightly wiser version of yourself and you’ll be going through your old things and come across your old mission trip journal and you will sit in your room and cry over the pages because of how faithful God has been. And you’ll laugh at how cute and naive you once were.

LEARN. That is your first responsibility as a team member on a mission trip: to learn. Learn the language. Learn the culture. If you are serious about opening your mind and heart up to this new part of the world and want to effectively serve in some capacity with these people then there is only one option that makes sense… LEARN TO COMMUNICATE WITH THEM. You can’t build a ministry in another country through hand gestures and handouts while thinking like an American (read: United States-ean). Relationships are key and the foundation is communication and understanding. Do the hard work: learn the language.

Being a learner means you realize that you actually don’t know best. Do you know who does know best? The natives, and usually, the missionaries. The ones who live there day-in and day-out. They know what is appropriate and what is not. They know which situations are dangerous and which are not. As a team member, an outsider (no matter your age), it is not your place to question their leadership or decisions. Like, if they tell you to stop laughing obnoxiously loud in a public restaurant because you are being disrespectful of the country’s social norms don’t roll your eyes because “ugh, what a party pooper.” (Other than already attracting probably more unwanted attention than necessary, you are reinforcing a negative stereotype of North Americans – being disrespectfully loud and dominating of public spaces). You are also part of a team of people who is representing a local ministry or organization. LIVE BY THEIR RULES. It might seem super stuffy or strict compared to your church back home but… you are not at home. Respect the hosts’ rules.

Once you get to truly know the people and the culture you’ll find that they aren’t that different from you. You’ll get past the point of identifying all the differences and will start to celebrate and relish in the similarities of your common humanity. You’ll see dignity in each person and will be less likely to make blanket statements about their culture or race. As time goes on and you start having more conversations with the natives you’ll realize you stop talking so much about the natives. You’ll probably start out quoting faulty statistics about the country to friends back home or making wild generalizations about the local people as a whole… (Yeah, you’re gonna think you’re an expert on the entire Honduran population within your first trip or two. You’re kind of annoying.) Then you will get to know their hearts and will feel silly for making all those ethnocentric assumptions. (Thankfully, your Honduran friends are gracious people. Most will forgive you.) 😉

You’ll undoubtedly come home from this first trip with excitement and tears and pictures, sharing stories of what you saw and felt. Who wouldn’t? You might encourage a couple other friends or family members to join you on following trips. Some will listen intently, some will get bored from your stories pretty quickly because they didn’t experience it with you. They’re not going to understand. They don’t get why you cry because you have such a nice house and so many don’t, and why suddenly you are borderline taking a vow of poverty. You just went though a real emotional journey over the last seven days and those who didn’t experience it can’t exactly relate.

Speaking of poverty… YOU ARE NOT A POVERTY TOURIST. You did not pay $1,200 to travel all the way to Central America so you could “experience poverty.” (Which you never actually did. Seeing poverty is not experiencing poverty.) The thousands of people who live in rural Honduras and are trying to survive off a dollar a day are not staged for your entertainment or learning exploit. This is their real life. I know you’re excited about all the pictures you get to show to everyone back home but count the cost of that photo you just snapped with your iPhone* in that family’s private space while gawking at their extreme lack. Be sensitive and consider each person’s dignity before doing anything.

*I went through 3 entire disposable cameras on my first trip 12 years ago

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Apparently all I did on my first trip was hold other people’s babies.

Now, let’s talk about your clothes for a second. This isn’t a pertinent issue necessarily but it reflects your attitude toward those you are serving. If you show up uncharacteristically dressed like a bum in cut-off capris and cut-off ratty t-shirts, the message you are conveying is: you aren’t worth my best… or at least, you aren’t worth my average. I’m telling you now, there is no need to raid the thrift store for the nastiest items before your trip because “you don’t want to ruin your good clothes.” This is a fine excuse if you are helping with hard labor or a messy job like painting but consider your activity… washing hair for lice? Giving worm medicine at the entrance of the pop-up clinic? Dress appropriately and show respect in that.

Ok, I know you most likely will not receive this well right now because you are high on enthusiasm and naive idealism but you will come to learn this with time and it needs to be said… you are not the hero. Like, it is not about you at all. Take your piece of humble pie and swallow it well because no one likes an arrogant team member. You are one of many team members and unity is key. First of all, you are doing the humbling job of serving other human beings, so esteem them higher than yourself. Secondly, you are working with other volunteers as a unit and any individualism on the job has to go. Thirdly, you nor your team are the first nor the only ones to do this kind of work. It is valuable and needed! But it is not exclusive to your group. You don’t have a monopoly on “free medical clinics in Honduras”and you certainly didn’t invent the idea. Celebrate the fact that you are joining so many others in the effort to share Christ’s love in a tangible way!

It all feels glamorous right now but it won’t always be. You will experience more fear and pain than you even imagined but you will find more love than you even imagined also.

Let this experience move you to inward and outward change. You will slowly start to see the world completely differently. You’ll probably have a slightly different perspective on success, faith, politics, and current events than others. Let it move you to make a difference at home as you dream about going abroad again. You didn’t have this awakening inside your soul just to apathetically return to abundance and self-indulgence. Your eyes will be open to hurting people all around you. DO SOMETHING. Don’t sit casually waiting on your annual mission trip to come around again. You have a bigger purpose and there is too much at stake for you to put on your missionary hat for only one week out of the year.

So, in conclusion, little 14-year-old going on 15, your years ahead have so much in store. Don’t worry about learning all these lessons at once. It will happen in its time. Just you wait,

27-year-old You

(who still anticipates more lessons in the future)

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Then in college I wrote this poem in an attempt to express the love affair I have with the country & people to which I don’t belong.

A Call to Love

Broken streets and broken souls call
I am compelled to answer, answer them all
Your small hands have taught me more than textbooks could contain
Your selfless joy is like my heart’s refrain
I’d choose you over a city of gold – all of you, every inch
I’d choose you first and I’d choose you again
I am a jealous lover, it’s my heart you win
You’re more than a memory, more than a friend
More than beauty and dirt and land
More than a good story to tell, more than I can stand
I am who I am because of you
It’s taken years to express, but for years it’s been true
My commitment to you runs deeper than a flutter in my chest
You have all of me, my worst and my best
I love you longer than seven days
Beyond borders and languages, my love stays
I love you stronger than a smile or a tear
Because I choose to love in the face of pain and fear
I’ve felt welcomed, accepted, rejected and betrayed
I was close to giving in and letting apprehension have its way
But I am led to you by a greater Hand
And my trivial emotions are irrelevant to His plan
I haven’t forgotten you, I never could
You are my first love, and my love is for good

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Oh yeah, 27-year-old me still likes holding other people’s babies. 🙂 Nueva Alianza, Copán, HN.

 

#detailsdeHonduras part 3

This is part of an ongoing photojournalism project. See part 1 and part 2.

(Kristen Bruce Photography and Multimedia)

Village: Nueva Alianza visit in photos

*PREFACE* This was the blog entry that I was working on when my computer was stolen Sunday afternoon. The saved draft was open along with my photo editing software and the couple hundred pictures that I took during our visit to the village of Nueva Alianza. One of the purposes of this trip was to document living conditions and to have a picture of each family with their last names in order to correspond with the data we had on each child. This was part of Natan’s internship. The photos saved in this blog are the only ones we have from the trip.

A couple days before my trip down here I got an unexpected large donation from a close family member that surprised me to tears. I was overwhelmed and so thankful to God. I wasn’t worried about paying for our rental truck to get up to the mountains or the even bigger issue of how I would continue to pay on my school loans for these couple of months that I’m not in the states. I had a purpose, a mission, and God was my provider. Then because of a small issue out of our control with the rental truck we almost had to pay an outrageous fee on top of the rental price. I was upset and didn’t understand. We returned to the rental place to sort out the issue the next day and it was taken care of. They didn’t mention the issue and we weren’t charged. Just in time! God is good.

Then Sunday happened. My backpack along with my prescription glasses and laptop and a few other things was stolen out of Natan’s car. And I’m almost positive that it happened in the church parking lot… while I was hearing a sermon that would prepare me to deal with the very situation: Paul said in Philippians that he has learned to be content in whatever circumstance, whether in lack or abundance.

I certainly won’t pretend that me minus my laptop equals lack or poverty but I have to admit that it felt like a heavy blow. I use it for most of my jobs and especially for photo/video editing which helps fund my mission trips. Also, I feel really uneasy about all my personal info that was on it. Recent books I have been reading are about ministering in hard places and missionaries who remain in dangerous areas and are friends with those around them even after they have been robbed by the very same ones. When I got back to my room Sunday evening I remembered the book I was reading and decided I would read a little before bed. Then I realized it was in my backpack…

Its pages are most likely being used as toilet paper in someone’s outhouse right now.

Needless to say I am asking God to help me with my attitude. He is still good, He’s my provider and I promise my pity party will be short-lived. I really have been preparing myself for something like this. I am amazed that after 10+ years of traveling/living in Latin America (especially Honduras) that this is the first incident I’ve personally faced. It really is minor compared with other things that happen here. God, help Honduras.

And, now let me introduce Nueva Alianza…

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Last year our missions team spent a day in Nueva Alianza (Copán, Honduras) pouring a cement floor for the pastor’s family. This was for the part of the house that was used as a kitchen, which was where they previously had to walk on dirt/mud.

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Natán, his brother Walter, and I were able to go back for a short visit last week. Here is a view almost a year later of the completed floor with the kitchen walls back up. The pastor’s widowed daughter and grandson stand in the doorway.

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The purpose for this particular visit was for Natán to conduct some interviews and gather research for his social ministry internship he is completing this month for seminary. This village had been chosen by the Christian Social Ministry to receive sponsorship so based on that connection and the friendships already started, we planned our visit. We just happened to get a last minute unexpected donation of children’s literature and workbooks that we were able to deliver to the school.

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Let me give you a glimpse into a day in the life of the students there. The school is only first through sixth grade and they are all grouped into one “class.” They are split into two groups depending on the subject being taught. After sixth grade (if they make it that far) is when they are expected to work and support the family. Typical work includes farming and construction.

One of their classrooms is a cinderblock room and the other is made of wood and metal scraps.

IMG_8354A government sponsored program provides the kids with a snack of beans, rice and tortillas during the school day. When the ladies walked up with the pots and pans of food all the children starting singing in unison a song about “snack time.”

We made a couple home visits and saw several inoperable toilets and some stove ventilation pipes that needed to be fixed. But we also saw some new water filters in the homes and a vegetable garden that the Christian Social Ministry helped start. We are hoping to come alongside them to partner with this beautiful community as well. My heart was especially touched for the children. I hope that one day they will each realize that they are precious and loved and can achieve any dream they put their mind to.